


saints to be canonized

by sorbusaucuparias



Series: seven devils [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, I don't know how to tag this, Isaac Lahey & Lydia Martin Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Resurrected character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorbusaucuparias/pseuds/sorbusaucuparias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior year was supposed to be the time for fun and being together. Yet two months after everything that happened, the effects were still clearly visible among the pack. The trust that was broken, the lies that were told and the appearance of a lost loved one were not easy to come back from. A crack had formed in the pack's unity.</p><p>Lydia was 98% sure that would be their undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue; sweet dreams are made of this

_Don’t let them in._

Four words that were echoing in her ears when she jolted awake with a fearful gasp falling from her lips. Beads of sweat were rolling down the sides of her face, which was assisting in keeping strands of hair glued to her. There was only one other instance where she had woken up like that; that instance had included Peter Hale and being surrounded by piles of dirt, neither of which she had ever wanted anywhere near her bed. When Lydia noticed a figure moving beside her, the recollection of incident crept into her mind and made her immobile.

 _Don’t let them in_.

She could finally put her finger on whose voice belonged to the words; it was the same person who was now sitting up next to her and reaching for her hand.

“Lydia, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

For a brief, fleeting moment, there was actual consideration of answering him. It would be simple and easy to turn her head and explain that she had woken up from a nightmare.

There was just one problem.

Lydia didn’t remember going to sleep.

 _Don’t let them in_.

The last memory Lydia had was dancing with Stiles at the preserve. That moment was a stark contrast to every that had been happening over the past two months. It was so perfect and special that it had etched its presence into her memory; Lydia could remember every detail of the night. But the key detail was Stiles.

And the Stiles that was sitting next to her?

The Stiles that was rubbing comforting, soft circles into her bare shoulder with his thumb?

The Stiles that she could see out of the corner of her eyes staring at her and cautiously awaiting her response?

That wasn’t her Stiles.

Lydia pushed herself off his bed with rapid force, careful not to have her foot be caught in the sheets as she did. Even in the dark, she knew the layout of his room. Though she quickly reminded herself that it wasn’t actually his bedroom. Whatever it was, wherever she had found herself, it had been so meticulously organized to ensure no suspicions were raised that Lydia found it difficult to find any faults.

At least until her gaze finally landed on the person sitting in Stiles’ bed. The person who shared the same appearance, the same mannerisms and the same tone of voice as her boyfriend yet lacked one vital item.

“It’s your eyes.”

“What?”

Taking another step back so that she was against his bookshelf, Lydia examined the imposter properly. The moonlight coming through the half open shutters allowed her the opportunity to notice that he was just as meticulously prepared as the room.

Except for his eyes.

“Stiles is tired... and he’s broken,” Lydia uttered softly before shaking her head. “But he can still look at me in a way that I don’t deserve. It’s a look that no one can duplicate.”

The imposter in bed kept his guise.

Or did until the next words fell out of her mouth.

“Not even an antediluvian trickster.”

Five words changed his entire demeanour. No longer was he pretending to be the still-awkward limbed, hyperactive that Lydia had been sharing a bed with over the past week. She had seen through his façade so why did he have to bother? Still, when he stopped pretending to be Stiles, his annoyance practically radiated from him. The way he glared at her sent a chill down her spine; it was unerringly close to the expression he had worn when he had been explaining the trickster stories to her.

Her foot stepped backwards unintentionally. There was nowhere to go which meant her back hit a shelf on his bookcase yet again. A small, startled cry escaped her, adding sound to the otherwise silent room.

 _We let them in_.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sound of Stiles. _Her_ Stiles who was trying to say something that Lydia couldn’t quite decipher.

Who had they let in? The Nogitsune was gone despite whatever was happening in front of her. There was no one else that they had to worry about because no one else had been let in. Deaton had told her that everything was over even if they had yet to locate Harris. Everything that had happened was finished and the pack could finally enjoy a _normal_ senior year.

“This is just a dream,” Lydia pronounced. If she opened her eyes and found herself still in _whatever the hell_ she found herself in, those five words would become her mantra. It would be repetitive but at least she would be able to shock herself into waking up.

Lydia opened her eyes.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing except his position. He had gone from sitting in Stiles’ bed to standing in front of it. The glare that had been directed at her now contained something else. It was almost like curiosity.

“This is just a dream,” Lydia reiterated.

“Or is it a reality you can’t face?” he asked in a low tone that sent yet another chill down her spine.

“This is just a dream.”

He smirked before taking a step toward her. “That little voice in your head? The one that you bury under rubble because you’re terrified to listen to it? I can hear it.”

Lydia’s hand went back to grip the shelf behind her. “This is just a dream.”

“Do you think Stiles can?” he asked before stepping forward. “Maybe he’s aware that you think he holds more than a memory of me. You did tell him that he's always the one who figures it out. What if he finally did? What if he succumbed to the darkness I left? What if this is your reality?”

There was nowhere to run. He was in front of her, his hand gripping a higher shelf on the bookcase behind her. His hot breath seared her cheek and made her sick to her stomach.

_We let them in._

“This is just a dream.”

“How sure are you, Lydia?” he questioned. His eyes were boring into her and practically forcing her to turn her head to meet his glare. “This could be your butterfly dream.”

It was her mouth that gave away her apprehension.

The soft exhale of breath seemed to ruin the front she had put up.

Maybe it was her reality.

Maybe dancing at the preserve with the guy she loved had been a dream that couldn’t last forever.

Her gaze fell to the floor, her mouth still agape as she tried to contemplate everything that happened. There were tears brimming in her eyes that threatened to fall and roll down her cheeks. How could that have been a dream? After Harris, after losing Allison _again_ , after being tortured in Mexico _again_ , after dying to protect the people she loved, how could Lydia accept that it was all a dream?

Well...

She couldn’t.

Especially after she noticed one of the posters hanging on Stiles’ bedroom wall.

It was one that she had seen a dozen times before. Over the past few nights, Lydia had actually found herself staring at it in an attempt to bore herself to sleep. Someone could ask her to describe the poster with her eyes closed and Lydia would be able to provide every single detail.

But in that moment?

Lydia couldn’t read it.

A smirk played on her lips and a malicious spark illuminated in her eyes as she met his glare once again. “ _This_ is _just_ a dream.”

The proclamation hung in the air between them.

His jaw set and his eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly more. Despite her smugness, the same feeling of fear that she had felt at Oak Creek began to creep in. Lydia may have beaten him at his game but it didn’t seem like he would let that go. Her hands were shaking as she removed them from the bookcase to push against his chest instead. Part of her was wishing she could harness whatever she had when facing Harris but she couldn’t. All Lydia could rely on was her own strength.

 _We let them in_.

She was stumbling toward the door, a shaky breath falling from her lips as she did. It was her only escape.

Stiles’ words were still echoing in her ears though. That made her hesitant to turn the knob that was in her hands. Opening a door was how Stiles had let the Nogitsune in. He said it had been such a trivial, seemingly innocent action when he had faced it in his dream; how could he have known about the catastrophe that would follow due to that one action?

“What happens if I open this door?” Lydia asked. Her eyes were still glued on the wooden panelling like that was the only thing keeping her fear at bay. “Is there another one? Will it consume me like you did Stiles?”

“No.” The truthfulness in his tone caused her to release the door knob and turn on her heels to face him. He was standing in the middle of the room, hands linked behind his back, but his gaze wasn’t on her. Instead, he was glancing around, attempting to find something yet never actually discovering it.

Her back was pressed against the hardwood door, anchoring her in that moment. “Then why? Why are you here?”

 _We let them in_.

“Maybe I’m a gift from an old friend,” he posed before letting out a sigh, his eyes finding hers again. “Or perhaps I’m the personification of all the fears you have about dating Stiles Stilinski.”

Lydia knew that she should have responded to the last statement. She should have listed all of the reasons why he was wrong because there were no fears about dating Stiles. But he was right. There was a little voice in the back of her head and Lydia couldn’t give him the satisfaction of confirming that; even if he was just a figment of her imagination.

Instead, focus was placed on the first half of the statement.

“What old friend?”

A smirk etched itself on his lips and he slowly began walking toward her. Each step he took made her heart beat harder against her chest. “Chaos. Pain. Strife. Beacon Hills is a synonym for those three words. Scott McCall’s pack is a synonym for those three words. You exhibited that with how you responded to Adrian Harris. Every single, calculated move that _you_ made, Lydia Martin, brought nothing but chaos, pain and strife. Every move that _the pack_ made, whether thought through or not, brought nothing but chaos, pain and strife.”

He stopped himself when he was within arms-length of her. His eyes trailed up her body, causing her to feel more sickened than afraid. Lydia’s hands splayed against the wood of the door. It was the only thing that provided her with any sense of stability.

“An old friend was intrigued. The same old friend who was pulling the puppet’s strings,” he stated. The arrogance that was practically oozing from him only seemed to increase when Lydia’s mouth opened slightly. “You thought he was lying. Was that easier than facing the truth? The truth that there are things that go bump in the night which want nothing more than to see your pack burn to the ground. Being teenagers doesn’t stop them from wanting to destroy the kingdom you’ve created. None of you are safe, Lydia. Not even Scott McCall.”

Her heart beat was echoing in her ears. Every thump against her chest felt like it had the ability to break through in an unfunny, cartoonish way. Nails scraped against the wood in an attempt to keep the feeling of steadiness that was rapidly slipping away. Lydia could tell herself that it was a dream repeatedly but that wouldn’t stop the way she felt. Harris’ impact on her felt like a breeze of cool air compared to the fear that was creeping up her spine. Dying should have stopped anyone from having the ability to reduce her to this.

Whatever she _was_ should have stopped anyone from having the ability to reduce her to this.

“Tricksters are cunning. They lie,” Lydia expressed though the words sounded alien to her. Had it not been for the way his head tilted to the side in curiosity, she would have assumed they weren’t her own.

“And the Nightmare Queen is a monster in female form,” he countered before taking a step closer to her. Lydia was trapped between him and the door that had previously been an anchor for her. His eyes searched her face as he let out a sigh. “When this is all over, Lydia, you’ll be left in the dirt. No Stiles. No Scott. Not even Isaac. Just _you_.”

_We let them in._

The heavy pounding of her heart was deafening.

Maybe that was why he leaned in.

His lips were against her ear, which seemed to make her heart leap into her throat. Lydia tried to focus her attention on the window opposite her but there was no possibility of ignoring him. His hot breath hit her neck, causing her eyes to widen.

“And you’ll be screaming.”

Four words, comprised of nineteen letters and one apostrophe, uttered in a tone that was eerily reminiscent of the one he had used at Oak Creek was all it took for the fear to spike. The beating of her heart became even more rapid and irregular; it seemed like there was a real possibility that it could break her sternum. Her eyes clamped shut in a feeble attempt to stop it but it was no use. His words had been spoken. The fear had set in. And Lydia had no ability to stop the scream that tore from her throat.

It was piercing.

It was jarring.

It had the ability to wake her from what had just been a dream.

But her arms and legs were thrashing uncontrollably, struggling to find the stability that she had lacked in her nightmare. As they did, it became increasingly clear that she was still at the preserve and still with Stiles, who was trying to valiantly to calm her. The words he was saying were lost to her. All Lydia could hear was her own screaming, the high-pitched wail trapped in the confines of the Jeep, and something else; the faint voice of the Stiles who had first jolted her awake.

_They’re going to win._

_Because we let them in._


	2. something's electric in your blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski _wasn’t_ easy.
> 
> Being Isaac Lahey’s best friend _wasn’t_ easy.
> 
> But being in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski while _also_  being Isaac Lahey’s best friend was excruciating. Lydia didn’t know how Scott had managed to maintain his co-dependent relationship with both of them without straining his eyes; she couldn’t even count on both hands the amount of times she found herself rolling her eyes at their antics.
> 
> It didn’t help that three of them currently found themselves squeezed into the back of a Beacon County patrol car, arguing over who was to blame for their present predicament. Isaac and Stiles had not stopped disagreeing since they had been placed in the car while Lydia had remained quiet. Maybe if she vocalized her practically homicidal thoughts concerning the two of them, they would shut up. Then again, it was Stiles and Isaac.

**two months later**

Being in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski _wasn’t_ easy.

Being Isaac Lahey’s best friend _wasn’t_ easy.

But being in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski while _also_  being Isaac Lahey’s best friend was excruciating. Lydia didn’t know how Scott had managed to maintain his co-dependent relationship with both of them without straining his eyes; she couldn’t even count on both hands the amount of times she found herself rolling her eyes at their antics.

It didn’t help that three of them currently found themselves squeezed into the back of a Beacon County patrol car, arguing over who was to blame for their present predicament. Isaac and Stiles had not stopped disagreeing since they had been placed in the car while Lydia had remained quiet. Maybe if she vocalized her practically homicidal thoughts concerning the two of them, they would shut up. Then again, it was Stiles and Isaac.

“Just man up and accept that this is your fault,” Stiles stated, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Isaac’s gaze shifted to Stiles, his eyes narrowing in the process. “Why is it _my_ fault? I wasn’t the one trying to look up Lydia’s skirt the entire time we were in there.”

The only response Stiles had were mangled, reaching sounds that didn’t quite form any coherent words or letters. His head whipped around to face Lydia. Whatever infuriated expression Stiles had been wearing before had morphed into one of dread. If he was expecting her to launch into a tirade or glare at him with annoyance, he was going to disappointed. Isaac’s announcement wasn’t exactly news to her; Lydia had already caught him staring multiple times during the night and had encouraged it. Though from the look on his face as he watched at her anxiously, Stiles had no idea that she had been intentionally crossing and uncrossing her legs, adjusting in her chair and stretching out like a cat whenever his gaze moved from the 17th century archives in front of him to Lydia’s bare legs. He was one of the smartest people Lydia knew but he could be oblivious sometimes.

Stiles examined her face, searching for something before whipping his head around to look at Isaac. “I wasn’t trying to look up Lydia’s skirt,” Stiles responded; it was petulant and spoken with a sneer in Isaac’s direction. He whipped around to face her once again at a speed Lydia was sure would give him whiplash. All evidence of petulance and sneer gone. “I wasn’t trying to look up your skirt. I was looking at your legs. Lydia, they’re very distracting. Especially now that I get to touch them when we’re making out. Or when they’re wrapped around my waist. Or when we’re in my bed and you’ve got them over my--”

“If I take the blame _right now_ , will you shut up?” Isaac interrupted before letting out a groan. “Knowing about your sex life isn’t a priority of mine.”

“ _Good_ because you knowing about our sex life isn’t exactly a priority of _mine_ either,” Stiles rebutted, his face briefly contorting to express his disdain for Isaac, before he shook his head. His eyes remained glued to Lydia’s. She was still wearing the same smile she had been since he had first begun to nervously explain himself. “What I was going to say was: when we’re in my bed and you’ve got them over _my_ legs. The way you do when you’re reading or we’re watching something on my laptop and I trace patterns on them...”

It was the combination of the look in Stiles’ eyes and the gentle tone of his voice. Actually, it was that and the feeling of the pads of his fingers softly creating invisible, intertwining circles on her thigh that made her breathing hitch. Under no circumstances was it fair that he held the ability to do that to her. She was sure that Stiles had thought the same thing once or twice over the past two months they had been dating. But the fact he could make her heart pound against her chest and her brain fuzzy to everything except him _while_ they sat in the back of a patrol car with Isaac after being caught trespassing in a _library_ was an unfair ability. Lydia’s head tilted slightly, a breathy exhale escaping her as the circles he was drawing on her skin crept further up her thigh.

“ _God_.” Stiles let out a quiet sigh as his fingers continued their slow movement on her thigh. “Do you know how much I love that noise?”

Isaac began patting down the door and the back of the seat in front of him. He turned his attention to them and in a very serious tone asked; “Can either of you see the ejector button? Or a motion sickness bag? Or really _anything_ I can use to get away from this?”

And that was how reality came crashing back to her.

They _were_ in the back of a patrol car with Isaac because they had been caught trespassing in a library. It didn’t matter how good Stiles’ fingers felt as they drew interweaving circles on her thigh, they couldn’t erase the fact that they were about to be driven to the Sheriff’s Station to be questioned about their motives for being there. Lying would be their only option because how exactly could they break the news to seemingly normal people that the supernatural was real and it was the source of power responsible for Lydia’s deceased best friend being resurrected by a sociopathic Beacon Hills High Chemistry teacher, who incidentally resurrected himself after _another_ teacher at the school made him a human sacrifice?

Lydia’s hand pushed Stiles’ fingers away in a rapid movement before she began composing herself. It seemed to be good timing as Isaac’s door opened almost immediately after Lydia had flicked a loose strand of hair away from her face. The three of them looked over at the wide open door to see an impassive Sheriff Stilinski leaning in to stare at them.

“Out. Now.”

After glancing between Isaac and Lydia to gage their response, Stiles leaned over Isaac to look up at his father. “We’ll take our chances at the precinct.”

“Out _now_ ,” Sheriff Stilinski repeated. The composure of his tone was what made them scurry from their seated positions to stand against the patrol car; it was the calm before what Lydia could only assume would be a calamitous, verbal storm.

Both Stiles and Isaac were seemingly too engrossed in the ground beneath their feet to notice the Sheriff’s stare fall between them. Lydia, on the other hand, had no intention of avoiding his gaze. However, she did check to make sure that there were no other Sheriff’s Station officers around before she opened her mouth to respond to his unasked question.

“We weren’t trespassing.”

“Lydia, unless you’re carrying a badge that permits you access to every inch of that library, you three were _in fact_ trespassing,” Sheriff Stilinski replied in a hushed, angry tone.

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Lydia reached over to open the pocket of Stiles’ flannel shirt. The action seemed to surprise Stiles, given the way his head whipped up at an impressive speed to look at her. Or try to look at her, only to be caught in the increasingly pissed off stare of his father. Lydia pulled out the laminated badge she had kept there for safe keeping and handed it to the Sheriff. Examining the badge increased his irritation more than anything. He clutched it in one hand and glanced around to make sure that his subordinates weren’t closely concentrating on the four before turning his attention back to Lydia.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Dad, I have a feeling you don’t want to know any more than I don’t want to know how Lydia managed to sneak that into my shirt,” Stiles answered. His gaze turned to Lydia, who only shrugged a shoulder in agreement.

Isaac dragged his attention away from the ground to raise his hand. “Lydia, question: if you had that the entire time, why did you let us get put in the car?”

“Would they have believed us?” Lydia’s returning question was directed not at Isaac but at the Sheriff. When he shook his head, Lydia smiled. “ _Exactly_. They would have assumed we stole it, which is a complete lie because I--”

The Sheriff threw his hands up in front of him, the badge held close to his palm by his thumb, and shook his head. “I can _not_ hear the rest of that sentence. Just get your asses home.”

“We can leave?” Stiles asked, disbelief etched on his face. “All of this will be fixed then forgotten?”

“There’ll be a report filed but this badge, which I will say I found during the search, will clear you of any charges. The security guard is old enough that I can persuade him to believe he simply forgot that you three had clearance.” What his father said seemed to be enough for Stiles to turn on his heel with a smile and begin to walk to the parking lot where the Jeep currently sat alone. His steps were halted by the Sheriff’s hand grabbing his arm. “Fixed but sure as hell, not forgotten by me. We’re going to have a nice, long chat about this when I get home, Stiles.”

“I can’t wait.”

Sheriff Stilinski released Stiles’ arm before tilting his head toward to the other two. “Lydia, Isaac, feel free to join us.”

Isaac nodded with at an overly enthusiastic speed, which was a stark contrast to the scared expression that he currently wore. It made both Stiles and Lydia bite their bottom lip to supress a laugh with only Lydia nodding as well to assure the Sheriff she would be there. The conversation wouldn’t be that pleasant, it would probably be the verbal storm that she had been waiting for, but it would definitely be more pleasant than a few of the other conversations she had been a part of with the Sheriff and Stiles over the past two months. Though, it was safe to say that she and Stiles wouldn’t turn eight shades of red like the time they had been caught in the living room and had subsequently had to discuss it with a suddenly tomato-resembling Sheriff. Lydia could only imagine how much more unpleasant it would have been if they hadn’t been under a blanket when the Sheriff walked in.

Once the Sheriff was far enough away, Stiles was the first to release his laughter. It came out more as an amused snort as he and Lydia laced their fingers together and began walking to the Jeep. Isaac’s scared expression was replaced with an ire that was reserved only for Stiles.

“Shut up.” Isaac caught up with the two, glancing between them once he had. “You’re both too comfortable after being reprimanded by the Sheriff.”

“That’s because he’s not the Sheriff, Isaac,” Stiles replied with a roll of his eyes. “He’s the guy who sings hair band songs while making pancakes in the morning.”

Lydia shook her head softly, her eyes drifting to her best friend beside her. “ _And_ this is the fourth time in the past fortnight that we’ve been reprimanded by him.”

“ _Fourth_? What the hell did you guys...” he trailed off after noticing the smirks that Lydia and Stiles were wearing as Stiles unlocked the Jeep. From the passenger side, Isaac let out a noise of disgust and climbed into the backseat.

There was something about riling Isaac up that made Stiles’ smirk grow. Lydia could only roll her eyes, making her question _yet again_ how Scott had never managed to hurt himself when it came to responding to their antics. They had spent a sufficient amount of time together since Harris escaped and the dust settled, which Lydia had thought would lay groundwork for them being friends. Apparently and _annoyingly_ , Lydia was wrong.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that there was tension among the pack. Senior year was supposed to be the time for fun and being together. Yet two months after everything that happened – after Harris, after Mexico, after Lydia faking her death and her, Melissa, Deaton and Isaac lying about it to the pack, after having to explain that both she and Stiles had seen and talked to Allison without telling anyone – the effects were still clearly visible among the pack. The trust that was broken, the lies that were told and the appearance of a suddenly corporeal Allison Argent were not exactly easy to come back from. A crack had formed in the pack's unity.

Scott was still pissed about being left in the dark about Lydia. That was only amplified when she and Stiles had told him that they had spoken to Allison, whose resurrection had led to Scott and Kira taking time apart. Scott needed time to comprehend his feelings for both of them, something he had spent time with Stiles doing, while Isaac had spent time with Lydia, trying _not_ to feel anything Allison. The McCall house held almost the exact same amount of tension as the pack did; Isaac trying to get rid of his feelings for Allison was his way of trying to ease some tension. Lydia had been able to spend exactly one day with her revived best friend before Allison was rushed over to France to discuss everything with what Stiles had dubbed the ‘Argent Council of Sociopaths’. That happened _after_ an emotional reunion with Chris that every member of the pack had been privy to. Even Malia, who had been trying to avoid pack meetings while she diffused her anger towards Stiles, shed a tear. The only two pack members who weren’t responsible for the bubbling tension among the pack were Liam and Mason; they were too busy scanning through Deaton’s archives in an attempt to expand their supernatural knowledge. It had been a _long_ two months.

Maybe it was overly optimistic to assume that everything would become better after a month had passed.

Maybe it was overly optimistic to assume that everything would become better after _two_ months had passed.

But for the crack to still be as big and illuminated as it was after sixty days left Lydia with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The pack needed to be united because as much as it killed her to admit, there was something about Allison being alive that didn’t sit well with Lydia. Everyone who Harris had resurrected had died the night the Nogitsune had visited Lydia’s subconscious; Brunski had been in a holding cell in the Sheriff’s Station and collapsed with no warning, a man who bore a striking resemblance to one of the Kanima’s victims had died in the middle of crossing the street and Brett had informed them that one of Satomi’s slain pack had called him to meet up but died midway through their get-together. Lydia loved that her best friend was alive but something wasn’t right.

Every so often, when she would get a phone call from Allison or feel the tension at their lunch table, the Nogitsune’s words echoed in her ears: “ _The truth that there are things that go bump in the night which want nothing more than to see your pack burn to the ground. Being teenagers doesn’t stop them from wanting to destroy the kingdom you’ve created. None of you are safe, Lydia_.”

If the pack wasn’t united, Lydia was 98% sure that would be their undoing.

And not even Stiles, who was staring at her with adoration that still left her breathless while they waited at a red light, could ease the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

“So you guys got caught?” Scott asked as he leaned against the lockers beside Stiles’.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed slightly, exasperation practically oozing from him. “Okay, dude, seriously? That’s what you took away from the story? Not the fact that we were finally able to find the book that might actually explain the craziness we were dealing with three months ago while simultaneously answering the question of how the hell Allison managed to stay alive? See, if it were me, I’d be saying something like ‘wow, Stiles, congratulations for finding that’ or ‘what did Deaton say when you showed him?’ but you’re right; us getting caught was the highlight of the story.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Scott sighed and patted Stiles’ shoulder. “Wow, Stiles, congratulations for finding that. What did Deaton say when you showed him?”

“Sarcasm isn’t a pretty look on you, Scott.”

“Allison called last night.” His best friend stated it like it was an apology, which it definitely was.

Scott and Allison was a subject Stiles felt incredibly informed on after the past couple of months of late night conversations between himself and Scott. Not to mention the subject of Scott and Kira. Actually, Stiles could probably teach a class on both with relative ease. Stiles understood his best friend’s feelings for both of them, the confusion and complexity of the situation Scott found himself in and even how it had affected the lingering betrayal he felt toward Isaac, his mom, Deaton and even Lydia. It was why Stiles chose to shrug his shoulder softly as he closed his locker door.

“What am I talking about? Every look’s a pretty look on you,” Stiles responded, turning his attention to Scott. There were moments when Scott only wanted to let it be known that something had happened with Allison or Kira, he didn’t want to discuss it but he needed Stiles to be aware that it had happened. From the look Scott was wearing when Stiles turned to him, it was obvious that it wasn’t one of those moments. Stiles sighed and began walking when Scott did. “So, what did she say?”

“Her dad’s keeping her in France for a few more days. He said that they needed work on the story to tell everyone but Allison said it’s because he wants to spend time with her before throwing her back into this whole mess,” Scott answered before looking over at Stiles. “And that we need to talk when she lands.”

Stiles paused in his tracks. “About getting back together?”

Turning on heel, Scott met his best friend’s gaze briefly. His mouth began to open to respond before his attention drifted elsewhere. Curiosity got the better of Stiles and he turned around in time to see Kira glance away from her conversation with another member of the lacrosse team. When she focused on the two of them, she stopped talking. It would have been fine had she stopped walking but Kira hadn’t. Instead, she tripped down the last two steps of the staircase but luckily managed to catch herself before she fell to the floor. It seemed like she would have rather fallen and been staring at the ground than at Scott and Stiles from the prompt reddening of her cheeks. Immediately, Scott spun back around and Stiles’ head whipped back to face the front.

“Well, that was sufficiently awkward,” Stiles uttered as he closed the small distance between himself and Scott. The bell rang before Scott could respond with anything other than a nod. He began to walk to his class but Stiles’ voice stopped him. “Dude, I have to go the Animal Clinic tonight to talk with Deaton about what we found. You should tag along. It’ll only take thirty minutes then you and I can go somewhere and talk about all this. Or not. Hey, maybe we could finally watch some of the great cinematic masterpieces you’ve never seen.”

Scott only nodded once more and continued making his way to his next class. It wasn’t until Stiles was sure his best friend was out of even supernaturally-enhanced hearing range that he pulled his phone out of his pocket. After dialling her number, Stiles began moving toward the library. Being alone in a Beacon Hills High hallway shouldn’t have felt as peaceful to him as it did considering everything that had transpired in them over the past three years but it did. Maybe if it was night time it wouldn’t feel as peaceful.

Stiles was dragged from his thoughts when he heard her voicemail message greeting him. A smile stretched across his lips only to turn somewhat sheepish. “Hey, so I know that we had planned to hang out after meeting with Deaton tonight but... Allison’s coming home in a couple of days and Scott needs to talk with someone about it. Or not talk but gain some insight on it through silence with someone. I don’t know, Lyds... Look, I’m going try to decrypt Harris’ laptop. We can talk more at lunch.”

Standing at the entrance to the library, Stiles began to move the phone away from his ear only to stop. The somewhat sheepish grin he had been wearing softened as he leaned into the phone. Lydia may not have been able to see it through the phone but Stiles was sure she would be able to hear it through the way he said, “I love you.”

He pushed the library doors open, ending the call and putting his phone back in his pocket as he entered. There were a few students scattered around the room, trying to make use of their free period by studying, but Stiles was only looking for one in particular. The one who was currently walking down from the second floor with books in his hand.

 _Danny_.

* * *

“Hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Isaac,” Lydia replied with a glance up at him while she stretched.

Isaac rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Not with that attitude.”

When he had first suggested teaching her to fight, Lydia had laughed it off. She wasn’t a fighter any more than Stiles was; they relied on their brains more so than their physical abilities and until they could understand whatever telekinetic ability she possessed that had allowed her to throw two strong men across the room, Lydia had resigned herself to using books to fight. Or she had until a particularly vicious group of wendigos had come into town and Lydia had spent the next week under strict observation by Stiles and Isaac because of a minor head injury. After that, books and brains were replaced by fighting techniques and weapons training. But not once had she ever hit Isaac. Rumours from the playground and knowledge from Allison and Scott had informed her on what the Lahey household had been like without Lydia ever hearing it from Isaac himself. Instead, they used a dummy to practice fighting techniques. Or at least _did_ until that day.

“Just hit me,” Isaac pestered as he put his hands under her armpits and lifted her to her feet.

Lydia’s hands came up to push him away from her before turning to face him. “Why do you want me to hit you?”

He rolled his eyes and jumped around, waving his arms in the air. If anyone walked past the gym at that moment, they would probably wear the exact same confusion she was as she watched the idiot. Isaac stopped with a satisfied smirk. “See? A dummy can’t do that.”

“Do what? Look like a moron?”

“ _Move_ ,” Isaac answered, rolling his eyes afterwards. “Lydia, you can hit a dummy as many times as you want and I will stand here and watch you do it. Happily. But when you’re fighting someone, they won’t stand still and wait for you to hit them. You need to practice on a moving target. So, _hit me_.”

It was logical reasoning but Lydia still shook her head. “I’m not going to hit you.”

An unattractive snort sounded from him. His eyebrows raised as he looked down at her incredulously. “Derek threw me around like a piece of paper when he was training me. He broke my arm to prove a point. Do you really think your tiny, little fists are going to have any impac--”

One of Lydia’s ‘tiny, little’ closed fists connected with Isaac’s jaw before he could finish what he was saying. His hand came up to rub his jaw and the anger that she felt quickly faded to annoyance when she saw his growing. Lydia scoffed. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“I can’t believe it took you that long to hit me,” Isaac responded, continuing to rub his jaw. “You have a nice right hook but put your hips into your swing.”

Rather than wait for whatever riling comments he had conjured up, Lydia did exactly what he told her to do. The swing was more forceful but didn’t connect with the jaw it was aimed toward. Instead, her fist connected with the palm of his hand as Isaac gave her a nonchalant shrug. His expression said everything; Isaac wasn’t going to be a breathing punching bag for her to practice on, he was going to make her work for it. Logic told her it would be better to practice using the dummy first but Lydia wanted to see if she could actually get him.

Lycanthropy made that a difficult goal.

No matter how she angled her fist or where she stepped or whether she put her hips into the swing, Isaac was always able to dodge the attack; he would either move out of her way entirely or catch her fist in his. Even after Lydia changed her tactics and tried to kick him instead, he was still able to evade her. It was repetitive and increasingly redundant but Isaac wouldn’t let her walk away.

His hand came out to wrap around her ankle, pushing it away from his face and ignoring her exhausted groan. “Try again.”

“Why?” Lydia sighed as she loosened her ponytail.

“Why doesn’t Stiles know about the dream?” Isaac probed. It caught her off guard for a moment, her jaw dropping a little, before she narrowed her gaze and swung at him. Werewolf reflexes allowed him to duck out of the trajectory and wrap his arm around her waist to bring her flush against him in the span of two seconds. Lydia grumbled but didn’t waste energy trying to escape his grasp. “Why doesn’t he know about the dream, Lydia?”

“Stiles knows.”

“He knows that the Nogitsune taunted you in a dream then declared that someone wanted to destroy the pack?”

Lydia huffed against his chest, her eyes rolling involuntarily. “ _No._ ”

Isaac nodded but didn’t release her from his grip. As he began to respond, something inside her hit the roof, which resulted in her elbowing him in the ribs and using a forceful swipe of her leg to knock his from underneath him. For someone who was gifted with heightened senses, Isaac seemed surprised to fall down as evidenced by the yelp he emitted. Lydia stared at him for a moment before pulling the elastic from her hair. That had become her sign for when she was done with practice without having to say it. All she wanted to do was walk away and take a shower but Isaac was still staring at her.

“He knows the important details, Isaac,” Lydia let out before settling down on the mat. Her head rested next to his but their feet were pointed toward opposite sides of the gym. “I omitted the rest.”

“Who was talking then?”

“My grandmother.”

His brows furrowed and he turned his head in her direction. “You told Stiles you woke up in bed with your grandmother?”

It was shocking to her that she had yet to strain her eyes given the amount of times she had rolled them in the past few months. “Obviously I changed the location.”

“So Nogitsune became grandmother and Stiles’ bedroom became?” Isaac asked, more curious than she had heard him in a while.

“Her lake house.”

A silence settled around them. They both reverted to looking at the ceiling instead of glancing at each other. Lydia could hear her phone buzzing in her bag but chose to ignore it. There was something incredibly simple about staring at the ceiling that allowed her to forget about everything that was happening.

Up until Isaac remarked, “Didn’t you want to not start your relationship by lying?”

Sighing, Lydia pushed herself up into a sitting position before spinning to face him. It didn’t surprise her that he was already sitting up and waiting to hear her response. The eager anticipation in his eyes _did_ surprise her though.

“Do you remember those 16 hours we spent in the Animal Clinic, waiting for Stiles, Scott and Allison to come back?” Lydia asked, waiting for Isaac to nod before continuing. “Deaton said that when they came back, there would be a darkness around their hearts, something that we wouldn’t be able to see but they would be able to feel. But there are times when I’m staring at Stiles and I swear I can see it, Isaac. I can see the darkness and I can see the guilt he still feels about what the Nogitsune did; that’s never going away, no matter what he does. Stiles is going to carry all that pain and all that guilt for the rest of his life. So, how do I tell him that the main star of my night terror – the one that brought every were-creature in Beacon Hills to the preserve that night, by the way – is the same _thing_ that haunts his? How do I remind him of that, Isaac?”

Isaac didn’t say anything. He chose to instead reach over, take her hand and give her a sad, soft smile.

Suddenly, the silence that she had previously been revelling in became deafening to her.

* * *

Other words for exasperated included infuriated, frustrated and perturbed. None could describe the way Stiles felt as he wildly gesticulated to emphasize his incoherent mumblings. Danny barely even looked up from the book he had open in front of him. If he had a shirtless Derek with him, Stiles was sure he would have had Danny working to decrypt the laptop already. But Derek was still absent and Stiles couldn’t think of anyone else’s abs to take advantage of. Though, when he really thought about it, that tactic was completely tactless. Appealing to Danny’s supportive side was a much better idea. They were friends and team mates after all.

Before he could say anything, Danny glanced up from the page he was reading to Stiles and cocked his eyebrow. “Do you realize that you only ever talk to me when you need something?”

Stiles’ mouth gaped, his brows knotting together as he let out an affronted scoff. “I’m offended, Danny. Yesterday I told you that I liked your shirt.”

“That was Lydia,” Danny countered as he turned his body to face Stiles.

“I was standing next to her,” Stiles stated before pointing to his eyes then pointing to Danny’s. “And I _non-verbally_ told you that I liked your shirt through eye contact.”

“Guess what I’m non-verbally telling you through eye contact?”

Stiles stared at Danny for a brief moment before shaking his head in disbelief. Sarcastic retorts flooded his train of thought but none of them could leave his mouth. Especially not when he was interrupted by his own phone’s obnoxiously loud buzzing in the otherwise quiet section of the library. He held up his index finger to Danny and excused himself to one of the bookshelves close to the table. Normally, Stiles wouldn’t have taken the call but the moment he saw Scott’s caller I.D., he knew he had to.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Stiles asked in the most casual tone he could muster.

After the past couple of months, Stiles could pretty much answer his own question. Hell, after the past incident in the hallway, Stiles could answer the question.

It was always the same four issues every time: Allison, Kira, his feelings about being lied to and the pack as a whole. No matter how Scott tried to cover it up, it was the same four issues. Stiles actually sort of longed for the days when the answer to that question was something petty like lacrosse or physics.

“I can’t hang out tonight. I have all this reading for A.P. Biology and I don’t want to fall behind.”

He didn’t have to be a werewolf to know that his best friend was blatantly lying to him.

Scott was striving for academic achievement that had passed him the last few years because of his supernatural and moral commitment to save people. He knew that he needed good grades to be able to do what he wanted to do once he left the confines of high school and Beacon Hills. Which meant that there was no way Scott hadn’t already read everything he needed to for each one of his classes.

But Stiles didn’t push it.

“No problem. Call me if you change your mind.”

He hung up and returned to Danny, who was doing his best to ignore Stiles when he sat down next to him again. Stiles fought the urge roll his eyes. Instead, he took Harris’ beaten up laptop out of his backpack and placed it unceremoniously on the table. The noise it made as it hit the tabletop echoed through the library. It also dragged Danny’s attention away from whatever he was reading.

“What the hell is that?”

“Laptop-shaped jewelry, I’m giving it to Lydia for her birthday.” Sometimes sarcasm was difficult to stop. Stiles sighed and pushed the laptop towards Danny. “It’s a laptop, okay? Now, can you please work your magic and fix it?”

Danny pushed the laptop back towards Stiles. “No.”

“Seriously, dude? _Come on_. Do you know how hard it was for Lydia and I to get this thing?”

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to not be thought of as the juvenile delinquent hacker in my family?” Danny asked before shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m going to regret this but, why don’t you ask Rebecca to help you?”

Stiles stared at Danny for a moment in an attempt to disperse his confusion; it only heightened it. He thought through every senior before it hit him. And by hit, he meant plowed into him like a train hitting a mountainside.

“Rebecca as in Harley?” Stiles asked with disbelief.

Danny bobbed his head to confirm before returning to his book. Still astonished by the information he had been given, Stiles stayed beside him, his mouth slightly gaped. The last time he had spoken to Harley had been... Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time they had talked, which added to his astonishment. Before Allison arrived and Peter turned Scott, Stiles and Scott had been completely ordinary teenagers. They had been the two who sat close together on the bench and watched their team win from the sidelines. They may been invited to parties on occasion but that was because they were part of the lacrosse team, not because people actually wanted to socialize with them. Stiles and Scott had been completely fine with that since they had their own group of friendly people they could turn to if they needed company other than each other.

One of those people had been Harley.

The same Harley, who had questioned how Allison could become part of Lydia’s clique in the span of a few hours while they stayed on the sidelines. He wondered what she said when Stiles and Scott became part of that clique as well with hardly any warning. If she harbored any negative feelings for them because of that, there was no way in hell Stiles was ever getting the laptop decrypted. He, Lydia and Isaac had not scoured that horror-movie-esque meat packing factory for three hours to leave empty-handed. No way.

“Stiles, can you leave?” Danny asked, not bothering to look away from his book.

Nodding, Stiles put the laptop back in his backpack and began to walk away. He stopped, turning on his heel to point at Danny’s shirt. “I like what you’re wearing today.”

“I’m still not helping you.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Stiles mumbled before shrugging casually. “It was worth a shot.”

* * *

At the Animal Clinic, Deaton had regurgitated almost the exact same information he had been over the past couple of months. The only difference in his speech was his mention of the thousand page tome she, Stiles and Isaac had risked an arrest record for. He hadn’t started to translate it yet but thanked them for their efforts in ‘misappropriating’ it; Isaac had been responsible for that, there was no way either Lydia or Stiles would have been able to carry it out of the library with ease while also being escorted out by a deputy.

Everything else Deaton had said after that faded away, which Lydia blamed Stiles for.

Or more accurately, blamed Stiles’ fingers for.

Lydia had been standing between his legs as he sat on one of the countertops. Midway through Deaton speaking, Stiles had begun to gently rub one of his hands down her arm. It was a soft trace that she was sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing but that didn’t stop her from leaning back into his touch as he did it. Stiles’ fingers had an effect on her that was unrivalled. Lydia could see Deaton’s mouth moving but all she could think about was how unfair it was that Stiles held the ability to make her feel like that. Then she started thinking about how he had made her feel in the back of the patrol car less than twenty-four hours earlier. Lydia was genuinely surprised she waited until they were back in his room in the middle of studying before she acted on the feeling.

Books were scattered on the floor.

The door was dangerously close to opening and giving the Sheriff the opportunity to walk in on them _again_.

And Lydia didn’t care because Stiles’ hands were roaming her body and his lips were on hers. There was something off though. As incredible as she felt, his kiss lacked its usual passion. Stiles was distracted, which he never was when they were tangled up in each other and especially not when she was on top.

Lydia sat up, running her fingers through her hair before releasing a breath. “What is it?”

“Scott,” Stiles replied as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“You’re thinking about Scott while we’re making out?” Lydia asked incredulously, awaiting his nod of confirmation before scoffing. “ _Great_. I owe Isaac twenty dollars.”

“What?”

She contemplated explaining herself but instead shook her head and waved it off. “It’s not important.”

Stiles’ brows furrowed, his entire face contorting into an expression of curiosity and vexation, and sat up. His hands rested on her back in an effort to pull her closer to him; it worked. Lydia looped her arms around his next, her fingers slowly combing through his hair as they stared at each other.

“I think you were right,” Stiles uttered.

“I always am,” Lydia instinctively countered before a wide smile appeared on her lips and his. “What was I right about?”

Stiles’ moved his hands to rest on the small of her back. “Someone bringing us to this exact spot because they need us to be here. Lydia, I think they need _Scott_ to be here; he’s a True Alpha with a broken pack. Don’t you think that would make it easy to--”

“Take him down?” she offered.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Stiles breathed as his thumbs traced soft circles on her back. “With Allison coming home in a few days, it feels like... this is it. This is the exact spot someone needed us to be at. The pack is divided and something’s coming. Something... _bad_.”

Lydia stared at him for a moment. Her heart was pounding against her chest and her throat felt like sandpaper. Everything that he said was what she had been thinking, most of which Lydia had shared with him to ensure there were no secrets between them. But hearing it from his mouth had an effect on her that she hadn’t expected. She found herself bobbing her head before the words were verbalized. The words that expressed the need to reunite the pack, to strengthen it, to protect themselves from whatever was about to come. All of those words came out as one. One singular word:

“Camping.”

“Camping?” Stiles snickered before shaking his head. “Lydia Martin wants to go _camping_ to save the pack?”

Her fingers twisted in his hair at his next chuckle, making him see how incredibly serious she was about it. “Obviously we don’t go camping in the grove of supernatural trees where almost every bad moment in our lives have taken place but... yes, _camping_ , Stiles. We can sit around a fire, we can--”

“Hold hands and sing?” Stiles facetiously suggested.

Lydia impulsively rocked her hips against him in an effort to show her objection to the way he was treating her idea. It was a bad choice considering the friction caused them both to groan. Stiles’ hands slipped down to rest on her ass and her hands released his hair to grip his shoulders instead.

“If we go camping, we can talk about our problems in a neutral environment,” Lydia answered with a cocked eyebrow and another rock of her hips.

All of a sudden, Stiles flipped them so that she was on her back and he was on top of her. His hands rested on either side of her head, his body slotting between her open thighs like he belonged there; he did. Lydia stared up at him, her breathing labored, as she waited for his response. Instead, Stiles leaned down to mark her neck. She could feel his smirk against her skin when she moaned. Her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged it, causing him to groan and her to smirk.

“Develop into a stronger pack,” Stiles added, the statement muffled against her neck as he placed another kiss against it.

Lydia bit her bottom lip and brought her leg up, her heel soon resting against the waist of his jeans and beginning to push them down. “Prepare for the next threat.”

His hand moved to travel up her bare thigh as Stiles pulled away from her neck to look at her. They were both flushed. They were both breathing heavily, which was a sound that seemed to echo in the room. There was a response about to fall from his lips but Lydia used the grip she had in his hair to bring his lips to hers. They crashed together, hot, desperate. Her teeth tugged on his bottom lip. His fingers dug into her thigh.

And _bang_!

The sound ricocheted through the room. Lydia and Stiles flinched and pushed away from each other, eyes frantically searching for the cause of the noise. Almost immediately, Stiles sought out his baseball bat and armed himself while Lydia moved away from the bed to explore. He was out in the hallway when Lydia found the cause. Or really, the blood stain on the window that allowed her to hypothesize the cause.

“Stiles!”

He came running back in, wielding the baseball bat like he thought a culprit had magically appeared. Stiles dropped it once he saw what she was pointing at. From the look he gave her, Lydia could assume he was thinking about the exact same thing she was. The last time something had flown into a window, it was the opening act for a malicious unkindness of kamikaze ravens that had left their English classroom in tatters and had sent a few of their peers to the hospital with injuries. It was also an omen that something incredibly bad was about to happen; the incredibly bad something being Jennifer Blake and the Alpha pack. No wonder Stiles was hesitant to open the window and look outside.

“Lydia, I think you need to call Deaton,” Stiles said after pulling his head back in the room.

Despite her better judgment, Lydia pushed past him and searched for what he had seen. The moment she saw the accumulation of ravens on his roof and the conspiracy that were soaring above and past the house, she nodded rapidly.

“I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't say this enough, but i actually loved this chapter. i reread it and i love it. i only hope that you all did too. i know there are some things that haven't happened in this chapter (aka everyone's reaction to the suddenly alive Allison) but they will be occur later.  
> chapter title is a lyric from the song "Various Storms & Saints"
> 
> as always, feeback is super appreciated!


	3. once you hear me howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Deaton arrived at Stiles’ door, his demeanour was a stark contrast to what Stiles and Lydia had heard through the police scanner; a police scanner that had not under any circumstances been procured from the Beacon Country Sheriff Station during Lydia and Stiles’ third date. Obviously, they were going to take it back but it came in handy for nights like this. There were reports all over the town of gruesome bird attacks that could rival a gory horror movie. Some people were hospitalized due to their injuries and Beacon County Animal Control had no idea what had sparked the practically blood-thirsty raven outbreak. Yet Deaton arrived calm, collected and looking kind of bored.

When Deaton arrived at Stiles’ door, his demeanour was a stark contrast to what Stiles and Lydia had heard through the police scanner; a police scanner that had _not_ under any circumstances been procured from the Beacon Country Sheriff Station during Lydia and Stiles’ third date. Obviously, they were going to take it back but it came in handy for nights like this. There were reports all over the town of gruesome bird attacks that could rival a gory horror movie. Some people were hospitalized due to their injuries and Beacon County Animal Control had no idea what had sparked the practically blood-thirsty raven outbreak. Yet Deaton arrived calm, collected and looking kind of bored.

He wordlessly used the ladder Stiles had propped up on the side of the house and examined the dead animal. Stiles and Lydia sat on the doorstep and listened to Deaton’s silent and clinical evaluation. The silence made Lydia’s skin crawl though. She needed to outwardly voice her thoughts on what was happening because the unkindness of ravens that seemed to be randomly attacking Beacon Hills was a bad omen. There was no possibility that it was _not_ a bad omen. While ravens were symbolically connected to wisdom and protection, Lydia knew that they were more frequently known as omens of darkness and death. To have what seemed like 500 ravens flying over the town could not have been anything other than a bad omen. Especially since it was happening in the supernatural beacon and home of a true alpha that was Beacon Hills.

Lydia couldn’t wait for college.

“One for bad news, two for mirth,” Lydia uttered under her breath, effectively breaking the silence that had settled. “Three is a wedding, four is a birth.”

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he turned his attention from his backyard to her. “What?”

With a soft exhale, Lydia moved her body to face him. “It’s a nursery rhyme my grandmother told me. She said they used it to interpret bird omens.”

“Why would she tell a child that?” Stiles asked incredulously before shaking his head. Eventually, Stiles would return to that question because he was now genuinely curious about what else Lorraine Martin had told adolescent grandchild but there were important questions to focus on. “Lydia, how does the rest go?”

There was no questioning her belief that it was an omen because from the look in his eyes, he seemed to share the exact same thought. Animal Control would probably write it off as a freak occurrence but they knew there was a whole other supernatural element in the world; they knew it was omen that something incredibly bad was about to happen.

“Five is for riches, six is a thief. Seven, a journey, eight is for grief.”

Stiles pushed himself off the doorstep and walked further out into his backyard to look up at Deaton. In the light of the moon, he seemed so much older than he was. It was almost like the moon sought out Stiles’ weariness and grief, everything that had been accumulating over the past two years, and brought it to the surface. A flashing neon sign telling people he was broken would have been more subtle. Every member of the McCall pack was broken in some way but they wore it like a badge of honour, it was something to learn and grow from not something to hide. Stiles was the opposite, he was happier to push it below the surface where no one would be able to see it. Everything that had happened with the Nogitsune, losing Allison, the Deadpool, Harris and the constant barrage of supernatural creatures that Beacon Hills faced had built up Stiles’ avoidance and torn it down simultaneously. Eventually though, Lydia knew that something was going to break through his avoidance and it would be like a dam collapsing; no one could go through life avoiding everything, especially not in the life they led. All Lydia could do was hope that when it happened, there was minimal casualties.

“Deaton, how many ravens are up there?” Stiles asked.

The veterinarian paused for a moment before glancing down at Stiles. “Ten.”

Stiles nodded to himself, his eyes leaving Deaton to focus on Lydia. Somehow when he did that, all evidence of his weariness and grief faded. “What’s ten, Lyds?”

“Ten is for sorrow,” Lydia flatly responded.

The corners of his mouth turned downward briefly, giving Stiles the appearance of a sturgeon fish, and his eyebrows rose. “ _Great._ Like there isn’t enough sorrow in this pack already.”

By the time Isaac had arrived, the three had moved from outside the house to the living room. Deaton was in the middle of explaining what he had found when Isaac came bounding into the room, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull. It was almost like he was expecting to find a disaster when he entered the Stilinski house and not Stiles and Lydia sitting together on the couch with Deaton standing in front of them discussing ravens. Actually, he seemed _disappointed_ that there wasn’t a disaster and he had only been called to listen to research.

Isaac settled himself next to Lydia, which led to Stiles moving over to one of the armchairs for more room. Stiles was too engrossed in what Deaton was saying to hear anything that Isaac might say but to be safe, he tilted his head toward Lydia’s ear.

“This place smells like death.”

“I _think_ that might have something to do with the ravens on Stiles’ roof,” Lydia sarcastically responded, glancing over at him briefly before trying to focus on Deaton’s explanation.

Whether it was annoyance over being lured to Stiles’ under false pretences or annoyance over having to sit through research talk, Isaac seemed determined to not pay attention and drag Lydia down with him. Normally, she wouldn’t care but under the circumstances, she needed all the information she could get. Something was about to sweep through the town like tornado and leave a wreckage in its trail, and there was no way in hell Lydia was going to let herself or the pack be fatalities in that.

“You and Stiles smell like dried sweat and dissatisfaction,” Isaac continued before a shit-eating grin spread across his face. “You two finally had sex, huh?”

Isaac was incredibly lucky that Stiles’ nightmare hadn’t been prophetic and Lydia’s glare couldn’t actually melt skin. That didn’t mean she wasn’t trying to make it happen though. Her jaw clenched as she scowled at him but all that did was make Isaac’s grin widen. Moments like this made her realize why he and Stiles had the relationship they did; they also made her happy to call Isaac her best friend.

“Lydia?” Deaton’s voice broke her eye contact with Isaac. When she turned her head to look at the veterinarian, both he and Stiles were staring at her. “Lydia, what did Harris call you?”

She had spent hours hopelessly wishing that she couldn’t remember every detail of what happened but at least remembering it had some positives. “An egotistical teenage girl.”

“What else?”

“The deepest still water there is,” Lydia offered with a shrug. An exasperated sigh fell from her lips at his unimpressed stare. “Deaton, why does it matter?”

Stiles looked at Lydia for a moment before his brows furrowed and his gaze moved to the veterinarian. “He called her the Nightmare Queen.”

“ _Wow_ , what other compliments did he give you?” Isaac asked, letting out a sardonic laugh after. Spending countless hours of the past two months in the company of Lydia and Stiles had done a lot for Isaac; he was somewhat wittier, somewhat cannier and exceptionally sarcastic when he wanted to be. Lydia was proud of what had been achieved. She would have felt more pride if Stiles and Isaac had become friends but that would probably be a long-term project.

Deaton stood there silently for a moment before rubbing his chin. The three teenagers watched him with a quiet fascination that masked the dread they felt seeping in. He always had the information they needed so for him to be contemplating something or even not knowing it was enough to create worry.

“I’d have to do more research but...” Deaton trailed off in his thinking, his gaze moving to rest on Lydia. If the pit in her stomach couldn’t rival an abyss before, it definitely could when his eyes met hers.

Stiles followed Deaton’s gaze. She didn’t even need to turn her head to see the expression on his face, Lydia could feel it. Fear, inertia, sorrow; everything he hid in the deepest recesses of his mind in avoidance. His glance moved back to Deaton but everything he felt still radiated off him, managing to expand the pit in her stomach somehow. “But what?”

“The title ‘Nightmare Queen’ could possibly be a crude translation of another supernatural figure in Irish mythology. Someone who is often mistaken for a banshee because of the connection between the two,” Deaton stated before shaking his head. “I need to research this idea, talk to a few of my old contacts. I can’t definitively say anything at this moment. Other than, note the choice of animal. Isn’t it peculiar that of all the animals in the world, ravens are circling the town at the moment?”

Despite feeling like all of the oxygen had evaporated from the room, Lydia leaned forward. Her inquisitive expression was a farce but she wore it like armour. Inside, she was terrified because despite the knowledge that something bad was coming, Lydia hadn’t expected that it would affect her as much as the last something bad had. It was a prediction but the fact that Harris and the dream Nogitsune had called her the Nightmare Queen seemed like evidence that she was yet again about to thrown into something. Still, Lydia kept her armour for that moment and looked up at the veterinarian.

Surprisingly, Isaac beat both Lydia and Stiles in saying something. “Deaton, are you seriously suggesting that someone could have _sent_ the flock of birds to Beacon Hills?”

“The unkindness,” Lydia murmured as she turned her head in Isaac’s direction. “It’s a not flock of ravens; it’s an _unkindness._ ”

“An unkindness, ten representing sorrow, malevolent omens,” Stiles listed resignedly before letting out a half-hearted laugh. “Is anyone else starting to think Lydia’s dream was prophetic? Because this whole thing feels like the opening act for someone who wants to destroy the pack.”

Deaton wouldn’t say anything further about the Nightmare Queen until he did more research, which rendered their small meeting over pretty quickly after that. Lydia had left with him and Isaac, leaving Stiles on his own to clean up the mess on his roof. Or really, _ignore_ the mess on his roof and focus on doing his own studying of Irish mythology. But like always, Stiles hit brick wall after brick wall and found himself yearning for the days when all the information was practically at his fingertips.

He was in the middle of reading about the Ulster cycle when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They were his dad’s awkward attempt to sneak to his bedroom without alerting Stiles; it was a complete failure but Stiles applauded the Sheriff’s efforts. Stiles was standing at his open door as the Sheriff began walking up the hallway, only to stop when he noticed his son.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” the Sheriff said with a bewildered expression.

“Dad, it’s like 9:30.”

The Sheriff stared at his son for a moment before nodding his head absentmindedly. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his dad like that. Actually, he didn’t think he had _ever_ seen his dad like that. The man who was dreamily walking away to his bedroom seemed so unlike the Sheriff who had pulled them out of the patrol car the night before.

Then Stiles noticed it and suddenly, it was like someone had punched him in the stomach.

* * *

“So he’s not wearing his wedding ring anymore,” Lydia let out, throwing her hands up in exasperation as Stiles turned into the school parking lot. “That’s not exactly cause for alarm.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, looking over at Lydia briefly before continuing his search for a space. “Lyds, the man has not taken his ring off since that night at the hospital. Okay? I was convinced it was super glued to his finger. Now, it’s miraculously gone. That warrants alarm.”

Letting out a small sigh, Lydia shrugged her shoulder but waited until Stiles pulled into a spot to say what she was thinking. They had almost been rear-ended five minutes earlier when Stiles had slammed his foot on the brakes in reaction to her initial response. “Maybe he’s started dating someone.”

“What?!” Stiles yelped, his foot hitting the brakes just as Lydia reached for the dashboard. His head whipped to the side to see her rolling her eyes. “Why would you say that?”

“Why does it seem so impossible that your dad would start dating again? What did you think was going to happen when you left for college and he was alone?”

“I thought he would throw himself into his work. Maybe he’d run for mayor. Maybe he’d win. Then you and I would come back to Beacon Hills for his birthday or Thanksgiving or Christmas, some sort of holiday, and we would see how lonely he was. We would help him rescue a puppy that he would probably name Banjo or Stiles 2.0, if he wanted a Stiles that listened to instructions and didn’t get himself involved in supernatural drama. The dog would be his companion, help him when he begins losing his sight and be there when my dad peacefully passes away in his sleep... I haven’t given it much thought though,” Stiles concluded and reached back take his and Lydia’s bags from the backseat. He pulled back, bags in his hand, to see Lydia’s mouth agape and his brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Lydia stared at him for a moment before taking her bag from him, with a shake of her head. “That might be one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. Seriously, Stiles, _wow_.”

Stiles’ brows stayed furrowed as a frown settled on his face. “It’s not sad. Didn’t you hear the bit where you and I help him rescue a puppy? A puppy is the opposite of sad.”

There was a part of her that wanted to nod her head and agree with him. That was somewhat due to the doe eyes he was giving her; the doe eyes that she is entirely certain that he is doing on purpose to manipulate her into agreeing with quite possibly the saddest thing she has ever heard. But also due to the fact that she knew which parent he was actually thinking about as he spoke. Lydia could tell him repeatedly that his dad moving on and dating someone else wouldn’t diminish his mom’s memory but it would probably be static noise to him. As many times as he had joked about the Sheriff flirting or be interested in another woman, Stiles had done it to annoy his dad more than anything else.

The other side of her won; the side that disagreed with Stiles completely and wanted nothing more than for the Sheriff to find love again.

Lydia brought her hand up to rest on Stiles’ cheek, which he instinctively leaned into, closing his eyes and smiling as he did. She took the opportunity to press her lips against his, avoiding his attempt to turn it into something more, before moving her head so that her mouth was against his ear.

“I love you, but if your dad asks me for dating advice, I’m going to give it to him,” Lydia whispered, pressing a kiss against Stiles’ free cheek after. His smile fell and he opened his eyes in time to see the playful grin on Lydia’s face as she exited the Jeep.

Stiles waited until he was out of the Jeep as well to call out; “Way to stand by your man, Martin!”

Her response was to wiggle her fingers at him without ever turning back to look at him, which made him chuckle as he put his arm through the other strap of his backpack. Stiles didn’t think he would ever get used to the way she made him feel.

He didn’t think he wanted to.

* * *

It wasn’t a habit of Lydia’s to anxiously monitor her phone in anticipation of a phone call or text. She blamed the people in the back row of her English room, who found it more interesting to discuss the bird attacks of the previous night instead of focusing on the lesson. Almost immediately after their conversation had broken through her concentration, Lydia became fixated on the lack of information she had received from Deaton. Rationally, she realized that he was a veterinarian who had a job that needed to be done but rationality left her about halfway through the period and she hadn’t tried to stop it.

The bell ringing was music to her ear, a feeling that Lydia wasn’t used to at all. Her hands sought out the phone at the bottom of her bag as she was exiting the room. There was nothing when she checked it; no calls, no texts, nothing. An annoyed huff fell from her lips before she put it back in bag and walked to her locker. Obsessing over a lack of messages from Deaton was going to drive her insane and, more than likely, make her ignore the other classes she had that day. He would send her something when he knew something, Lydia couldn’t make it happen through sheer force of will. At least that was what she told herself as she took her A.P. Biology textbook from her locker and reapplied her lipstick. There were more important matters anyway.

Like getting Harris’ laptop decrypted because nobody encrypted a laptop unless they were hiding something. And even though it was an absolute invasion of privacy, Lydia thought that was the least he deserved, considering the fact that he tried ritually sacrifice her, in addition to ritually sacrificing at least five other people in Beacon Hills. It was definitely less violent than what Stiles and Isaac had planned during a pack meeting; incidentally, that was the one time her boyfriend and best friend worked well together over the past two months. There’s nothing quite like seeking revenge to bring two people together.

Lydia shut her locker door and turned on her heels, expecting to see Danny standing by himself at his locker. But he wasn’t alone. He was talking to a girl that Lydia didn’t think she had ever seen at the school before. Lydia thought she knew every face in the senior class, she may not have been friends with the majority of them but she knew their faces. What was stranger was the second the girl looked away from Danny and met Lydia’s eye, it sent a shiver down her spine that was comparable to what she had felt in the early stages of Harris’ connection with her. The girl’s expression wasn’t even malicious, instead curious.

“Lydia!” Kira’s voice cut through, ripping her attention away from Danny and the unnamed girl, and honestly, she didn’t think she had ever been more grateful to see Kira before.

A smile spread across her lips as her gaze met Kira, who was practically beaming at her. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big detail but with everything that had happened over the past couple of months, it was rare to see her honestly smiling.

“Are you coming tonight?” Kira asked, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Lydia’s smile faltered slightly, her confusion etching itself in her expression. “To what?”

“The lacrosse game,” she responded as her beam grew even bigger. “Cyclones versus Beavers. And I was thinking that maybe you, Malia and I could do something after. I just feel like we haven’t done anything together in a while and I know Allison’s coming back soon so I thought...”

Her head began nodding in agreement before her brain had a chance to processing the rest of the information Kira had given her. The sole focus in her mind was the sudden awareness that there was a lacrosse game that night and the memory of the last lacrosse game. Lydia cringed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment.

“Kira, who’s playing tonight?”

* * *

“Why wouldn’t I play tonight?” Stiles asked, while tersely dropping his bag on the table top as he sat down.

Scott and Isaac shared a brief look before Scott took the empty space on the bench beside his best friend. “Maybe because last game you walked away with a concussion.”

“ _Minor_ concussion,” Stiles corrected after rolling his eyes. “Anyway, Coach said I was fine.”

“And _when_ did Coach get an M.D. attached to the end of his name?” Isaac questioned, his gaze meeting Scott’s again as the two of them shared a small chuckle. He may not have been the biggest supporter of their friendship or Isaac, but Stiles found it oddly nice to see the two of them laughing together again. They were still dealing with the tension that had been caused two months earlier so for them to be laughing, even if it was at his expense, was good. Lydia would happy when he told her.

Stiles still scrunched up his nose, glaring at Isaac briefly before shaking his head. “Coach said I can play so I’m playing. Besides, Scott and I have been practicing and I’m getting better. Right, Scott?”

He turned his head to look expectantly at his best friend, who was floundering to come up with a response. Isaac’s gaze fell to Scott as well and a smirk lifted his cheeks. The alpha let out a forfeiting sigh. “You’re not catching the ball your face anymore.”

It was a betrayal. An absolute betrayal. Stiles’ mouth fell open as Isaac started laughing hard enough that in the back of Stiles’ mind, he was actually hoping it would injure the werewolf. He thought he was getting better at lacrosse and then his best friend said this? _Betrayal_.

“Dude, you’re better than Greenberg,” Scott said in an attempt to comfort Stiles.

“ _Everyone’s_ better than Greenberg, Scott. It’s _Greenberg_!” Stiles retorted before pointing his index finger accusatorily at Isaac, whose laughter had quickly descended into a guffaw. “Shut up!”

Isaac put his head in his hands, propping his elbows on the tabletop, in what seemed like an attempt to stop himself from laughing. From the way his shoulders continued to shake, Stiles knew it wasn’t an attempt at all. He knew if the roles were reversed, he would be doing the exact same thing but that didn’t stop him from scowling at Isaac. At least Scott had the courtesy to try and make him feel better about his lack of athletic prowess.

Their phones chirped at the same moment, the three of them having received the same text message from Lydia, telling them to meet her at the buses. Scott and Isaac expectantly glanced at Stiles as if he knew what it was about; he had no idea. He could theorize her reason but it made more sense to just grab his bag from the table top and start walking to her. The werewolves followed immediately, neither trying to ask him for even an idea. It was almost like they could sense the small amount of fear that had begun coursing through him. After the past night, hell, after the past few years of crap they had been through, his girlfriend sending him a two word text with no emotion was enough to make the hairs on his arm stand up.

He wouldn’t start theorizing.

No, he wouldn’t because the second he did that, the small amount of fear he felt would burst into an unmanageable level of panic. The odds of Lydia wanting them to meet her because Deaton had found out there was another sociopath on the loose in Beacon Hills, who wanted to destroy the pack and kill the people Stiles loved, were very slim. Too slim for Stiles to even consider it as a reason. It was probably a completely normal, teenage reason that she wanted to meet.

The rest of the pack was there by the time the three boys arrived. Kira, Malia, Liam and Mason were in the middle of an animated discussion about something that completely evaded Stiles’ ears the second his eyes fell on Lydia. It was obvious to him immediately that Lydia wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying either, instead choosing to absently nod her head in agreement when it seemed necessary. That stopped the second she felt his gaze on her and she looked away from the four to meet his eyes. A smile spread across her lips, which made Stiles just stop. Whatever she was about to say, whatever reason she had messaged them for, whatever next wannabe villain showed up in Beacon Hills searching for a fight, Stiles was prepared for that. That goddamn smile of hers inspired him, made him courageous and destroyed him all at once.

When the other four noticed the boys’ arrival, their discussion ceased, with all eyes quickly falling to Lydia. She nodded to herself, her lips pursing together, before she exhaled. “What happened last night wasn’t a freak migratory anomaly. It was a declaration that there’s something new coming. I don’t know whether it’s the person who was pulling Harris’ strings or Maria’s operation or the Calaveras or even some new, terrifying threat that we never expected. But if it’s _any_ of those then we need to be prepared.”

“How?” Scott queried.

Isaac bobbed his head in agreement, pointing at Scott momentarily. “Yeah, Lydia. How exactly do we prepare for a threat we don’t know anything about?”

And Stiles’ eyes closed involuntarily because he _knew_ what Lydia was about to say. Things had to be _really_ bad if Lydia Martin, of _all_ people, was suggesting what he knew would fall from her lips in a few moments. He couldn’t even imagine Lydia going camping but he knew that not only would she be the most prepared, she would be the most competent. Especially since she was still harbouring pretty vindictive feelings about their last trip to Mexico and Stiles not having adequate supplies in the Jeep; obviously, her feelings were bona fide, considering everything that had happened, but his Jeep had been fitted with a GPS last month and he held pretty vindictive feelings about _that_.

“By trusting each other again.” Lydia’s gaze flitted to Stiles, who had begun to shake his head in disbelief, before she smiled. “Allison’s coming back Sunday night and I want that to be a good moment, not a moment that drives us further apart as a pack. _So,_ tomorrow afternoon, I think that we should go to the camping ground near my Grandmother’s lake house and spend the night there. _All_ of us.”

The last sentence was directed at Stiles. He knew it was from the change in her tone. Moments like that made him wish that Lydia didn’t know him well enough to know that he had started planning to develop a 24 hour stomach bug that would miraculously strike the second someone knocked on his door to go with him to the camping ground. Lydia would have seen through the plan anyway but it was still nice to develop some way out of going camping with the pack; he cared about everyone in the pack, tolerated in the case of Isaac, but there was no way he could handle a night of tension, awkward silences and fire.

Scott was the first one to vocalize his reaction. His eyes rose as he glanced between the pack members before finally landing on Lydia. “You want to go camping to save the pack?”

A sound of surprise fell from Stiles’ lip and he smacked the back of his hand against the alpha’s chest. It seemed like Stiles’ eyelids had completely disappeared as he looked at his best friend with a mixture of pride and happiness. “Scotty, that is _exactly_ what I said.”

Scott started beaming, which mirrored the smile on Stiles’ face. They kept staring at each other with the same feeling on pride radiating from them until they felt Lydia’s stare of tranquil annoyance. She waited until they were both looking back at her before answering the question that was on almost every pack member’s mind.

“It’s not about camping. It’s about being in a neutral environment and talking about everything. Two months ago, the foundation of this pack began to crack and if we’re about to face some new threat, we need to fix the cracks.”

“So,” Malia started, glancing around at the pack before continuing. “We’re going camping tomorrow night?”

Expectantly, all eyes fell to Scott. Despite the current state of the pack, Scott was still their alpha. The leader they put trust in instinctively. The person who they relied on for the answers that couldn’t be found in research. Which was why they kept their eyes on Scott until he finally nodded. “We’re going camping tomorrow night.”

The pack began to disperse after the finalization of the plan. Lydia walked over from her space between Kira and Malia to stand in front of Stiles. Her fingers tangled into his, her eyes meeting with his as her eyebrows rose. She knew he was aware of what she was about to say so instead she batted her eyelashes at him and smiled at him with as much innocence and sweetness as she could manage. Stiles began to smirk before letting out a soft chuckle.

“Not even if I’m oozing from every orifice?”

“Not even if you make your head spin 270 degrees like an owl.”

Stiles chuckled again and leaned down to kiss her. It was such an innocent action but Lydia still felt overwhelmed by it. Overwhelmed by the naturalness of it, how it felt like something they had done a thousand times before, like it was something they had always done. Lydia had had some reservations about starting a relationship with Stiles because she was scared that they wouldn’t work in the same sync that they had as friends. But they did and it overwhelmed her because Stiles finally made her understand the way Allison had felt about Scott. Moments like the kiss only strengthened that understanding.

“Have you heard anything from Deaton?” Stiles asked, quickly becoming the picture of protective and concerned boyfriend.

“Your dad wanted his input on the bird attacks last night. He doesn’t think he’ll have time to check with his contacts but he’ll try,” Lydia replied, reciting almost every Deaton had said during their short phone call prior to the boys arriving for the meeting. She had tried to control herself but her annoyance over checking her phone every few minutes couldn’t be controlled. Her gaze momentarily darted to where Isaac was leaning against the bus before the thought occurred to her. It took an amazing amount of willpower not to cringe when the thought occurred too. “Stiles, are you playing tonight?”

And a smile spread across his face. A smile that was so proud and so content that Lydia had to use every ounce of her strength to not cringe because she didn’t want to be responsible for making that smile disappear. “Yeah! I’ve been practicing with Scott, it’s gonna be great.”

For the first time in a while, Lydia actually plastered on a fake smile before leaning up to kiss him again. “I can’t wait.”

That made Stiles’ smile grow, which seemed physically impossible considering the how wide it had already been. Scott called out to him, diminishing the smile somewhat as Stiles glanced back to see Scott waiting for him. He groaned and rolled his eyes, removing his hand from Lydia’s in the process.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Stiles said before pressing his lips to her one more time and running to meet up with Scott.

Lydia gave him a small wave, even though his back was to her, and spun on the balls of her feet to face Isaac. It was only then that she finally released the cringe that she had been holding back and surged toward him, clasping her hands together in a begging motion that she would deny ever doing. Isaac started shaking his head before she even reached him. That was one of the biggest flaws of having spent the past two months almost glued to each other’s side; he knew what she was about to say before it left her mouth.

“I already said no.”

“You also said that you would talk him out of it,” Lydia retorted when she came to a stop in front of him.

Isaac’s brows knitted together as he frowned. “I don’t know why you believed me.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Lydia instead tapped her index finger against her pursed lips before pointing at him. “That may have something to do with you being my best friend. Or, because you said, and I quote, ‘ _believe me, Lydia, I would rather talk Stiles out of playing than follow him around for the entire game’_.”

“That wasn’t an actual promise.”

“Isaac, he had a concussion!”

“ _Minor_ concussion _,_ ” Isaac corrected before quickly becoming disturbed that he had used Stiles’ own response. Despite his better judgement, he shook his head, utter annoyed at himself, before meeting her completely manipulating, puppy dog eyes. “ _Fine_. Do you want me to be his bodyguard or his babysitter?”

Lydia’s puppy dog eyes disappeared as her self-satisfied smile grew. It took her a moment to decide between the options. She chose one that fit somewhere in the middle. “Just don’t hospitalize anyone.”

He seemed disappointed in her answer but nodded his head in silent agreement anyway. Isaac stood up straight, no longer relying on the bus for support, and made a small wiggle motion at her face with his index finger. “Stiles might not have werewolf-enhanced sense but he does have the gift of sight. You need to try harder not to cringe when he plays.”

“I don’t cringe.”

Blatant lie.

But it wasn’t like Lydia had ever intended to cringe. The first lacrosse game she went to after they started dating had been responsible for her cringing. She had watched Stiles get knocked down to the ground five times in the span of the entire game, not mentioning when he accidentally tripped while waving to her before the game had even started, and it was incredibly hard to not cringe, wince or make any pained expression when she watched her boyfriend repeatedly eat dirt. Lydia knew he was more athletic and agile than he had been sophomore year but somehow when he put his lacrosse jersey on, all of that disappeared.

“Much,” Lydia added after a moment, resulting in a laugh from Isaac.

A comfortable silence set in as they walked back to the pack’s usual outdoor table. Her mind replayed the last lacrosse game the Cyclones had played. The sound of Stiles colliding with that opposing team’s player, whose size rivalled a Berserker, and falling to the hard ground. Everyone had gone silent for a moment when it happened. Shock setting in because that sound was heart-stopping, at least to Lydia. She knew that the shared silent moment had only been brief, one second minimum, but it had seemed to last for decades. Stiles had looked lifeless when he fell, which added to Lydia’s heart stopping. Then Scott had called out Stiles’ name and rushed over to him with the same speed that both Lydia and the Sheriff somehow managed to have as they tore from their seats on the stands. It all happened slowly and she wondered how a lacrosse game could produce more fear than facing off against a supernatural creature. Stiles’ eyes were open when the three of them crowded him, an expression of complete astonishment on his face. All he had said was ‘ _ow_ ’ before he was carefully escorted off the field. There had been a burning prickle in the back of her mind every moment her eyes fell on him that night. She had actually stayed awake that entire night, laying on her side next to him in his bed, stroking his hair softly and watching his chest gently rise and fall with every breath. When he woke up the next morning, his eyes opening slowly and a witty retort on his tongue when he noticed her staring, Lydia said the three words she hadn’t actually vocalized. He already knew how she felt about him but hearing it caused the corners of his mouth to tug up into a goofy smile. Which was why she had gone to Isaac in the first place, asking him to look after the boy with the goofy smile who she loved.

The pack’s table was in their sight. Liam and Malia looked like they were in the middle of an argument, huddled over the table on opposite sides, while Kira and Mason were attempting to take the positions of mediators with an unsuccessful result. Lydia’s gaze drifted from her friends to the girl Danny had been talking to earlier and her hand immediately wrapped itself around Isaac’s wrist, forcibly pulling him to a halt. He turned with raised eyebrows, waiting for a reason.

“Do you think perceptive eyes for evil are contagious?” It was honestly surprising how earnest the question came out.

Isaac’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s from Stiles.”

“Oh,” he said, like her response erased every ounce of his confusion. “Well, if you caught it from Stiles, then you need a shot of penicillin.”

Honestly, it was miraculous Lydia hadn’t caused herself permanent damage, over the past two months, from rolling her eyes. She used the hand that was wrapped around Isaac’s wrist to point to the unnamed girl. “Who is that?”

“That’s Harley,” Isaac answered straightforwardly before meeting Lydia’s unchanged, jaded gaze. “She’s one of Scott and Stiles’ old friends. You wouldn’t know her because she doesn’t exist in your atmosphere... Your _old_ atmosphere.”

Lydia’s brows furrowed, a thin indent developing between them that she hoped wouldn’t leave its mark. “What do you know about her?”

“She’s not evil,” he stated plainly. Isaac sighed, pulling his wrist free of her grip, before turning to face her. “Lydia, I’m with you until the end. I have your back, I believe you, _everything_.”

“But?” Lydia asked slowly in an attempt to prolong the inevitable dropping of the other shoe.

Isaac’s mouth opened slightly, like he was searching for the right words, only to close seconds later. His gaze shifted from Lydia to something that was obviously more interesting behind her. “Last night, there were hundreds of birds invading Beacon Hills. Two months ago, you had a night terror with the Nogitsune in it. _Three_ months ago, you were being drained of life because of Mr Harris. You said it yourself before: something’s coming to destroy the pack. But you can’t start accusing people because you’re scared of not having the answers.”

She kept her eyes glued to him, watching every movement he made until finally, Isaac’s gaze moved back to her. That was when she nodded in agreement. Completely false agreement but he couldn’t detect that like he could when she verbally lied. Instead, he nodded as well and turned back around to continue walking to the table, where it seemed like Liam had admitted defeat unwillingly and Malia was gloating. Lydia closed the distance between herself and them more slowly than Isaac, her gaze drifting back over to where the now-named girl, Harley, was sitting.

There was a word that Isaac hadn’t used but had been nestled between his sentences. It was the description of what he thought she was being in that moment; _hyper-vigilant_. And it was something that Lydia thought the entire pack should feel every second that they were still in the supernatural beacon that was Beacon Hills.

* * *

The first three quarters of the lacrosse game were normal, which Lydia hadn’t thought possible when she first arrived at the lacrosse field and saw the Beavers’ player that was affectionately nicknamed ‘the Abomination’. Her heart had actually begun hammering against chest and not even Stiles’ totally oblivious yet entirely sincere hug could slow it down. Lydia was thankful he didn’t have the ability to hear heartbeat the way Scott, Isaac and Liam could because their curious stares were invasive enough. Stiles ran into fights against monstrous creatures with a baseball bat yet him playing lacrosse against that abomination terrified her more.

But Isaac had kept his promise. He found a balance between being Stiles’ babysitter and being Stiles’ bodyguard that didn’t send him to the penalty box or send someone to the hospital. That was what made her heartbeat return to normal as she cheered on the Cyclones from her seat, huddled between Melissa and the Sheriff.

By the fourth quarter, the Cyclones were down by three and Coach was yelling incomprehensible gibberish that – and this was only after a brief discussion with Melissa and Mason – Lydia determined was key sentences from Independence Day, even though it had no relevance to the game and none of the players on the field were actually listening.

That was when Stiles intercepted the ball that was flying through the air and began running toward the goal. Lydia automatically jumped to feet, her hands clasped together under her chin and her eyes glued to Stiles.

And he scored.

Lydia’s hands unclasped and shot into the air. Her cheer was the first, quickly hidden amongst the multitude of them that followed, but the only one that dipped into an unhuman pitch that had Scott turning his head to look at her. She didn’t care, not when Stiles was meeting her gaze and the corners of his mouth were turning upward into the same content, proud smile he had worn earlier that day. It was a smile that she mirrored, no longer having to rely on the fake one she had perfected long before.

During the face-off that followed, Lydia noticed Deaton standing by the edge of the stands, subtly motioning for her to follow him. She had been expecting a phone call to ask her to go to the Animal Clinic or to find him waiting at the McCall’s, asking Scott to make sure that every pack member was in attendance. The McCall house had become the new location for pack meetings when they weren’t at school, even though they didn’t have as many as they once had. Instead, Deaton had chosen the lacrosse field, during a lacrosse game that only had a few minutes left, when Stiles had maintained his athleticism instead of having it disappear entirely. Lydia excused herself and climbed down the stands to follow Deaton behind it.

“Lahey!” Coach shouted as Lydia stopped in front of the veterinarian. It took willpower to not turn around and see why exactly Isaac was being reprimanded.

Deaton looked up at the sky before meeting her impatient stare. “What a difference a few hours can make.”

Brows knitting together briefly, Lydia crossed her arms, ignoring Isaac being reprimanded again, and waited for Deaton to say something. Whatever was about to fall from his lips was either going to be bad or something he didn’t have the answers to because he was deflecting. Deaton deflected for different reasons, depending on the person, but from what was in his eyes, attempting to be hidden through feigned candidness, there were only two reasons in that instance.

“Do you know what the word ‘queen’ is in Old Irish?” Deaton waited for her to shake her head before continuing. “ _Rígan_.”

The sound of someone scoring a goal filled the space around them. Lydia realized the person responsible the moment she heard his proud cheer cutting through the roaring from the stands. No doubt Stiles was examining the stands, searching for her delighted smile, only to be disappointed by the empty space she left. She turned her head to the side, looking through the space between the stands, to see the teams moving back into position for what would be the last face-off of the game, given the time left.

“It was a crude translation,” Lydia stated once she found Stiles amidst the other players.

“The figure in Irish mythology that I was considering last night is called the Morrígan. The title of ‘Nightmare Queen’ was indeed a crude translation of its meaning,” Deaton explained. There was an uneasiness in his tone that made her move her head back to face him. “Lydia, it was said that the Morrígan had the ability to transform herself into a raven to fly over battlefields and inspire either courage or fear in the warriors below.”

It felt like someone slapped her, the scorching sting reverberating through her body, drying her throat in the process. “You think I caused what happened last night?”

Deaton stared at her, eyes boring into her, before finally blinking and releasing a deep exhale. “I think that there is a vast quantity of information regarding Irish mythology that we have yet to grasp. However, you have been labelled the ‘Nightmare Queen’ twice and Maria wanted you for a reason. Last night may have been someone’s idea of a wake-up call for you or may have been what Stiles said, an opening act. It could be that it was both. I have an emissary contact who’s offered to show me his archives but I won’t have any new information until I’m there.”

The roaring sound of cheers from the stands removed any silence between them, the buzzer signalling the end of the game getting lost somewhere in the middle. Lydia glanced over her shoulder to see Coach fist-pumping as the Cyclone players ran into each other on the field, meeting for a satisfied group hug. The smile that settled on her lips at the sight disappeared when she glanced back at Deaton.

“The pack has to be careful,” Deaton advised, his normally stoic expression dissolving into one of trepidation. “If last night was just somebody’s dramatic introduction, you may be facing something more dangerous than you have been before. Something that is more powerful and has a motivation that we don’t understand. You all need to be ready for that.”

 _Because if we’re not, one of us could die_ was what she wanted to stay. Instead, she thanked him for the information, making sure that he understood how grateful she was for what he did, and said goodbye before immersing herself in the throng of spectators, who were slowly dispersing into smaller clusters. Lydia searched for the team until she realized they were already walking to the locker rooms. Her phone vibrated in her bag and one text message from Kira rid Lydia of the girls’ night she was looking forward to.

Like it always was after a lacrosse game, the main street, and Lydia’s fastest route home on a normal day, was filled with traffic. Lydia thought that a mind-numbing traffic jam would clear her mind but it only gave her more time to think. It didn’t matter how loud she turned her stereo up, she couldn’t escape her own thoughts.

Lydia turned the car left at the next intersection and began driving toward the Stilinski house, continuing to try and erase her thoughts as the music blared through the speakers. The next best thing to clearing her mind for the moment was discussing what happened with Stiles. That was their role; the thinkers, the solvers, the ones who found the solution through detective work while the others fought. Learning to fight was a way to protect herself, have the necessary requirements to defend herself without having to rely on her friends to save her, but she wanted to keep doing the research, with Stiles, with Mason. Books and knowledge were her specialty; learning to fight was just her attempt to stop falling into the role of damsel in distress when facing a clawed supernatural creature.

It wasn’t a surprise that the Jeep was in the driveway when Lydia came to a stop out the front.

It wasn’t even a surprise that the front door was unlocked like it always was when Stiles was home alone because ‘ _seriously, Dad, who’s going to break into the Sheriff’s house? No one’s that dumb_ ’.

It was a surprise, however, that he spoke the moment she reached his open bedroom door. His face was against the pillow, arms underneath it, and somehow he knew she was there. Maybe werewolf hearing was something that could be absorbed if enough time was spent around a pack of them.

“Hey Lydia.” Stiles’ voice was muffled against the pillow but still managed to make her jump back, her lips pursing shut before an embarrassing yelp escaped, and place her hand against her chest in a futile attempt to stop her now thumping heart. He flipped himself so that he could look at her as she recovered from the startle and didn’t even try to hide his self-satisfied smirk. “I saw your headlights. Why aren’t you with Kira and Malia?”

“Scott wanted to talk to Kira,” Lydia answered, leaning against the edge of his desk and running her fingers along it after dropping her handbag onto it.

Stiles’ eyebrows rose slightly. “Maybe they’ll get rid of their awkwardness with each other.”

“Maybe.”

While Lydia was trying to compose a coherent explanation of everything that Deaton had said, Stiles propped himself up on his elbows to look at her properly, his smirk returning, before laying back down and closing his eyes.

“Do you know what’s weird?” It was a rhetorical question but he still opened an eye to glance over at her. “I had shadow tonight.”

And Lydia bit her tongue, disallowing the sarcastic response that was on the tip of it. Instead, simply smiling, not even attempting to feign innocence, because what was the point in lying when Stiles knew the truth. Or at the very least, had some idea of the truth that Lydia couldn’t contradict.

He’d caught her.

“You know, a lesser guy might make a self-deprecating joke about emasculation,” Stiles stated as he cocked his head to the side to look at her.

Lydia bobbed her head in agreement. “But you’re not a lesser guy.”

He propped himself up on his elbows again and smiled at her. “No, I’m not. I’m a very _curious_ guy though. A guy who managed to get information out of Isaac through some questionable means.”

“So you asked Scott to ask Isaac,” Lydia offered as she began to close the gap between them.

“I did.” Stiles nodded with a completely sincere expression of triumph. He waited until she was beside his bed to reach out for her, fingers intertwining with her, and until she was seated on his bed to speak again. “Lyds, if you were worried about me playing, all you had to do was tell me. I know all the diseases that make Coach squirm, I would have used that knowledge to my advantage. Not that I didn’t enjoy having Isaac following me around for the entire game. You don’t have to get me _anything_ for my birthday because that brought me so much joy.”

She paused for a moment, eyes moving to their joint hands, the way his thumb drew circles on her skin. Her heart pounded against her chest. It really was unfair that he was able to do that to her.

“Stiles, you love lacrosse and I love how happy you are when you’re on the field,” Lydia responded before tilting her head slightly to admire the way he looked in his shirt, quirking an eyebrow as she did. “And you’re flushed and sweaty when the game’s over, which is strangely attractive.”

A smirk tugged his lips up, his hand removing itself from hers to settle on her waist and bring her down to him. Lydia braced her hands on either side of his head and avoided his attempts to kiss her, the kisses landed along her collar bone, her neck, places that always drove her crazy but she had to until she could finish what she was saying. It took him a while to finally understand, stopping himself when he did to look up at her.

“Can you please just avoid the hulking players who have the ability to give you a concussion?” she asked before placing her index finger against his opening lips and shaking her head. “You can call it whatever you want but it was still a concussion, Stiles.”

He stared up at her for a moment, a small smile spreading across his face and finally nodded. A sigh of relief left her as she mirrored Stiles’ smile. It quickly turned into a giggle when Stiles’ wiggled his eyebrows at her and flipped them over with speed and precision she wouldn’t never have assumed he had before she knew him. Their lips moved against each other softly at first. Chaste. Delicate. Quickly descending into a desperate frenzy after Lydia pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and Stiles bucked his hips against her in response.

They had a string of bad luck when it came to this aspect of their relationship, like the universe was intent on making them suffer. Scott had walked in on them once in Stiles’ bedroom, silently letting himself into the Stilinski house with the key he had cut, when Lydia had been on her knees in front of Stiles. Isaac had interrupted them when they had been parked near the lacrosse field, Lydia with her dress shucked up and Stiles’ fingers pumping into her, which Stiles maintained was not an accident at all because Isaac enjoyed agonizing him. The Sheriff had caught them in these situations more than anyone else – in the Stilinskis’ living room, in Stiles’ bedroom, at her grandmother’s lake house that they were meant to be packing it up – and always turned the same reddish color that Stiles did. Then the birds the night before, which had the same effect that a cold shower did.

The knowledge of that bad luck was why Lydia frantically tugged on the hem of his shirt, breaking away from his lips to pull the shirt off him and toss it to the floor, before lifting herself up off the mattress so he could rid her of her shirt as well. Then, like Stiles had a habit of doing, he paused his movement. His hand held onto her hip as he stared at her, her chest heaving with every erratic breath she took, her hair fanned out on the pillow under her head, her eyes boring into his. It was only when she leaned up to capture his lips that he would move again, tentatively at first, his hands trailing the expanse of her bare skin, before delving back into desperate frenzy, his hands reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra and give his mouth unobstructed access to her breasts.

And it was only when he had Lydia releasing soft, breathy moans, her hands wound in his hair, that he began to move away, his hands beginning to ruck her skirt up, only to surge back down to capture a nipple between his teeth. Her hips canted up instinctively at the sensation, the wet fabric of her panties pressing against the protrusion in his boxers when she did.

“Lydia.”

It fell from his lips like a breathy prayer, which made her purposefully roll her hips against him. Once. Twice. After the third time, Stiles practically tore her panties off her. His finger slid inside her. His thumb swiped across her clit. His phone rang.

A loud song that Lydia couldn’t place cut through their heavy breaths. Stiles stopped his movement and when their eyes met, Lydia knew what he was about to do. She began shaking her head.

“Don’t answer it,” which sounded so much more like a plea than a demand due to her breathy tone.

“I have to. That’s Scott’s ringtone,” Stiles panted. “If I don’t answer it, he’ll just come.”

“And if you do answer it, neither of _us_ will come,” Lydia bit back, her breathy tone diminishing somewhat.

Stiles kept her gaze, his brows wrinkling together like he was contemplating a retort. The sound of Scott’s allocated ringtone was still reverberating through the room when Stiles took his finger out of her, an annoyed groan escaping Lydia as he did. Stiles would pay for that. Scott too, but mostly Stiles. Especially when he had the audacity to put his finger in his mouth and lick it clean, once he had his phone in his other hand and was able to meet her stare yet again as he leaned against his desk. Lydia clenched her jaw, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting to that.

“Hel--” Stiles started, his finger away from his mouth and his phone pressed to his ear. “Scott, you have to slow down... No, dude, seriously, you need to talk slower because I can’t understand what you’re saying... What?”

Lydia watched Stiles frown as she reclasped her bra before bending down to try to find her underwear that he had so haphazardly thrown to the floor. From the sound of it, they were going to be leaving the moment Stiles hung up the phone.

“We’ll be there soon,” Stiles stated, confirming her thought, and rolled his eyes. “We being me and Lydia, Scott... Yes, the second you and I stop talking... Okay, we’ll be there. Don’t do anything.”

She was putting her shirt back on when he finally ended the call, running a hand through his hair as he did. Lydia’s lips tightened into a thin line at the worried expression Stiles was wearing. “What’s wrong?”

After scratching the back of his neck, Stiles’ eyes moved from his wall to meet hers. “Scott got a call from Deaton telling him to go to the Animal Clinic. When he got there, the place was trashed and there was no Deaton. Every Druid-y, supernaturally-related thing that used to be there is gone. Now, Deaton’s not answering his phone.”

“He was at the lacrosse game,” Lydia informed. When she saw his confusion, Lydia added, “He found a meaning for the ‘Nightmare Queen’.”

Stiles paused for a moment before nodding his head and rubbing his hands together, pointing at her afterward. “Can you tell me on the way? Because Scott and Kira are completely freaking out and we need to be there.”

He began sorting through a pile of clothes on his desk chair, tugging on the cleanest t-shirt he could find before searching for his jeans. When he felt her beside him, Stiles turned to see her smirking. He squinted at her in attempt to find an answering before finally questioning, “What, Lydia?”

“You might want to do something about _that_ ,” Lydia stated, her gaze darting to his erection, her smirk intact on her lips. “Before we get there.”

And after she took her handbag from his desk, she actually flounced out of the room, making sure that her skirt flew up and he had a view of her ass cheek because she was still feeling vindictive and Stiles had to pay for the finger licking. It was also easier to focus on making her boyfriend release a whiny groan than on the knowledge that Deaton could actually be missing. He had told her he was going to see an emissary contact, which meant that there was every possibility that he was on his way to see that contact and not missing. But Lydia still dialled his phone number as she waited for Stiles by the Jeep and felt her stomach lurch when it went to voicemail.

“ _You’ve reached Dr. Alan Deaton. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and message after the tone, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did this chapter take me so long? i don't know. it took me so long and it ended up being so long. the next chapter will (probably) not be as long and will (probably) be posted sooner.  
> chapter title is a lyric from the song "It Will Come Back"
> 
> remember, feedback is amazing whether it's a comment below, something left [ here](http://haletate.tumblr.com/ask) or kudos xx


	4. all these broken pieces fit together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine.”
> 
> Two words Lydia wanted to scream, yell, etch into her skin and his so that he would finally understand. It seemed like she had already said it a hundred times before she was finally able to pull herself away from exit the Jeep. The repetitiveness of it made her feel sick. Or at least, that was what Lydia blamed her queasy feeling on when the cold wind struck her face.
> 
> Stiles was right behind her, still with the same annoyed yet concerned expression that made her want to slap him and hug him in the same instance. They both knew she wasn’t fine. Waking up screaming had never been associated with being fine. It was contradictory to fine. He was the only one of the two of them that actually wanted to talk about it. That was what they did now: they talked. They shared their feelings, their hopes, their regrets, their everything, because the last time they decided to bottle thoughts up, Lydia wound up faking her own death and they both ended up at the hands of their ex-chemistry teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super unbeta'd and not edited as well as it should have been.

**two months ago**

“I’m fine.”

Two words Lydia wanted to scream, yell, etch into her skin and his so that he would finally understand. It seemed like she had already said it a hundred times before she was finally able to pull herself away from exit the Jeep. The repetitiveness of it made her feel sick. Or at least, that was what Lydia blamed her queasy feeling on when the cold wind struck her face.

Stiles was right behind her, still with the same annoyed yet concerned expression that made her want to slap him and hug him in the same instance. They both knew she wasn’t fine. Waking up screaming had never been associated with being fine. It was contradictory to fine. He was the only one of the two of them that actually wanted to talk about it. That was what they did now: they _talked_. They shared their feelings, their hopes, their regrets, their everything, because the last time they decided to bottle thoughts up, Lydia wound up faking her own death and they both ended up at the hands of their ex-chemistry teacher.

So, now, they _talked_.

And Lydia was really starting to miss when they hid things from each other. Not big things, not little things, just the very general definition of the word ‘things’. Things like having a dream where a thousand year old Trickster spirit, wearing Stiles’ body like a cheap suit, was hurling taunts and predictions that ended in the knowledge that not only would the pack crumble, Lydia would be the one left screaming; that kind of thing, that was what made Lydia miss when they hid things from each other.

Lydia didn’t even know what to say. There weren’t many times in her life when she had ever been in a situation like that or had read about someone being in a situation like that or had any idea of how exactly to react or concoct sentences to express a situation like that.

She just stared at the lit up Beacon Hills, thinking about what Stiles had said earlier. No one down there knew anything about Beacon Hills. Not really. They had no idea that their town _wasn’t_ a magnet for animal attacks. They had no idea that they were constantly being saved from an onslaught of supernatural creatures hell-bent on attacking residents in the town because the pack put the beacon back in Beacon Hills. Lydia wished she lived in that blissful ignorance, where the most she had to worry about was what college to apply to and what dress to wear to prom, not whether or not to tell her boyfriend that the demon that consumed him and assaulted the town for weeks had invaded her subconscious.

“Lydia, you’re not fine,” Stiles stated, his footsteps stopping behind her, his annoyed, exhaled huff punctuating his sentence.

She turned on her heels, her eyes narrowing. “I _am_ fine.”

“If you say that one more time, I’m buying you a thesaurus for your birthday.”

“Don’t you mean a dictionary?”

Stiles half-laughed with an awkward scratch of his eyebrow. “No, I mean a thesaurus. Then you’ll have _more_ synonyms to use when you want to lie to me.”

She could actually feel her heart sink at that. “Stiles.”

“Sweating, shortness of breath, screaming, thrashing awake,” Stiles listed them off on his fingers, purposefully avoiding her gaze like she hadn’t already noticed the watery glaze of his eyes. “Do you know what those are all tell-tale signs of?”

“ _Pavor nocturnus_ ,” she replied straightforwardly in her attempt to not let her emotions invade her tone.

“And all of our experiences with night terrors have never been great. Like, on the grand scale of all night terrors ever, the ones that happen in Beacon Hills are pretty _freaking_ high on the ‘terror’ aspect,” he continued, still keeping his eyes focused on anything that wasn’t her. Stiles wasn’t as good at keeping his emotions hidden as she was though. Even if he didn’t look at her, she could _hear_ how he was feeling through his voice. “So, you not telling me makes me think that whatever happened, whatever nightmare you woke up from, was not only terrifying but enough for you not to want to trust me.”

Lydia ran her fingers through her hair, hands raising in the air in exasperation as her voice cracked – “It’s not about not trusting you, Stiles!” – which finally made Stiles look at her. Only a few hours ago, they had been happy and dancing and it had been enough to make them both forget about everything that had happened as well as everything that could happen; when their eyes met, when they both saw that the other on the verge of tears, that happiness they had felt seemed like it happened in another life. Maybe that was how it was always going to be in Beacon Hills, happiness and normality could only last so long before tragedy and trouble crushed it into nothingness.

She had told herself that lying wasn’t the best way to start a relationship but she couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him the truth about the nightmare. They both knew what it was like to have a psychopath invade their mind and make them do things that they wouldn’t normally. Peter had used her to resurrect himself, bitten her to preserve himself just in case the pack killed the monster, and during that entire time, he had made her feel like she should be taken to Eichen House like her grandmother. As much as she hated him for that, there was at least _one_ definite difference between what he did to her and what the Nogitsune did to Stiles; Peter had never used Lydia to spill innocent blood.

Poison an entire party and Derek with wolfsbane; _yes_.

Be responsible for putting Isaac and Coach in the hospital, twisting a sword in Scott’s abdomen, telling Barrow to kill Kira, being responsible for the electrocution of innocent people; _no_.

“It was my grandmother,” Lydia stated, surprising herself with the revelation almost as much as she did Stiles.

“What?”

There were certain aspects of the nightmare that had to be changed with that lie but Lydia could tell him the important facts without reminding him of one of the worst phases of his life. She could do it without reminding herself of it either. It meant that she could ignore what the Nogitsune had said about Stiles and stop herself from questioning whether Stiles held more than a memory of him.

“We were at the lake house, in the boat shed,” she explained before shaking her head softly. “She told me that there are creatures who want to see our pack burn to the ground. They don’t care that we’re teenagers, all they care about is destroying us. Harris wasn’t lying when he told me he was a puppet, my grandmother confirmed it. I don’t know who’s pulling the strings but I know that none of us are safe.”

There weren’t many points where Lydia rendered Stiles speechless. It was a little eerie to see him silently processing the information, his mouth opening slightly to say something only to close it seconds later. He stumbled backwards, his back hitting the grille of the Jeep, as he watched her.

She wanted to withhold the next statement for herself more than anything. She wanted to shove it into the furthest, deepest recesses of her mind. At no point did Lydia ever want to think about it.

But that gnawing question of ‘what if’ made her voice it because _what if_ _not ignoring it and having Stiles know it as well means that it won’t be true_?

“Stiles, she said that when this is all over, I’ll be left in the dirt. No you or Scott or anyone. I’ll be alone... and I’ll be screaming.”

The thought made her eyes water and her breath shaky. Every possible situation that could result in her being alone and screaming was chilling. Whoever the puppet master behind everything with Harris and whatever the Nogitsune was could have the ability to make it happen and that terrified her.

Seeing the tears begin rolling down her cheeks was like a jolt of energy to Stiles. He stopped leaning against the Jeep and contemplating what she had said and instead, rushed toward her. One hand cupped her cheek, Lydia leaned into his touch, while the other rested on her forearm.

“No way in hell is that gonna happen,” Stiles reassured, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone. “Okay? I’m not going anywhere, Lydia.”

And she prayed that that was true. She wanted nothing more than to know that it was certain that Stiles would always be there by her side to support her or protect her. Lydia knew he would try to be, he would die trying to, but there were no certainties in their life. Not anymore. Certainties disappeared when the supernatural appeared. Lydia couldn’t even be certain that she would go to college when there was every chance that she could die before graduation. It had happened to Erica and Boyd and Jennifer’s sacrifices and _Allison_. She could plan for her future but being in Beacon Hills and protecting it with the pack put a target on her back. It didn’t make her any less willing to save people but it did make her a realist. There had already been casualties, there was every chance that the next one could be her.

Still, the guarantee radiating off him, the love that was ingrained in it, marginally dissolved the fear she felt. There may not have been certainties but he made her feel like there were. Like the love she felt for him, the love he felt for her, their emotional tether, could somehow protect them from whatever was coming.

Lydia smiled tenderly before leaning toward his chest. She stopped herself when she noticed them. It made her blood run cold, chills running up her spine. Stiles noticed and tried to turn his head to follow her gaze. When he realized that he could turn his head all the way around without snapping it, his body moved instead. He seemed to have the same reaction as Lydia, judging from the way he seemed to stagger backwards and reach for her hand.

“What the f--”

* * *

“For the love of God,” Stiles muttered before hitting the brakes again. He started shaking his head and motioning to the car in front of them with one of his hands. “I hate game nights because all these idiots come to town and drive slow. Do they not get that there are more pressing issues? Sure, they’re sad about losing the game but get over it and drive fast.”

Lydia pursed her lips, her brows knotting together briefly, as she glanced over at him. “ _Drive fast_?”

He nodded his head, fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “And furious if you have to.”

The roll of her eyes was involuntary but definitely warranted. They had only been sitting in traffic for a short amount of time, which normally they were both fine with because they could listen to music or talk or do anything really. But they weren’t in a normal situation; Deaton still wasn’t answering his phone, someone had called the Sheriff’s Department to complain about strange noises originating from the Animal Clinic and Stiles and Lydia had a time limit to get there before whatever deputy was sent out. Kira was sending Lydia two texts per minute, describing what the Animal Clinic looked like, and what she and Scott were finding and _not_ finding while they examined it.

As Lydia typed out her reply, half-listening to the ramble Stiles was spouting while he wildly gesticulated to the cars in front of them, all she could think about was how quickly everything had fallen apart _yet again_. Then again, they had gotten two months of almost complete normality, aside from the creatures that appeared every so often to attack Beacon Hills and see the True Alpha, so maybe ‘quickly’ wasn’t correct. Still, over the past three days since they had broken into the library, it seemed like something had shifted and everything was crumbling back down. At least Harris had the decency to send her that bone-chilling shiver to announce his arrival.

“You know?” Stiles concluded as he looked over at her. From the expression she was greeted with when she glanced up at him, it seemed like he wanted her agreement so Lydia nodded before hitting send on her text to Kira. It made him smile briefly, exceedingly proud of himself, and he started drumming on the steering wheel. All his impatience had disappeared after his rambling rant. “Okay, where were we? _Right_ , Deaton found an explanation for your nickname. The _Nightmare Queen_.”

“The Morrígan,” Lydia corrected.

Stiles slammed on the brakes the moment the words left her mouth. His eyes widened as he turned his head in her direction, completely ignoring the cars honking behind them. “The _Morrígan_?”

The way he was staring at her made chills rise on her arm. Lydia couldn’t keep his gaze for too long, instead choosing to look behind at the cars that were queuing behind them and the drivers who were angrily honking their horns at the two of them. After he followed her eyes, Stiles rolled his and wound down his window, sticking his head out when he was able to.

“Go around us!” Stiles shouted before pulling his head back in and hitting the emergency lights.

“That’s not very safe.”

“Lyds, I could _not_ possibly care less,” Stiles retorted. He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head at the same time. “What did Deaton tell you about the Morrígan?”

Lydia ran her tongue along her suddenly dry bottom lip and shrugged a shoulder. Exasperation and worry wasn’t a combination that she was happy feeling. “That she had the ability to transform herself into a raven and that she could inspire either courage or fear in the warriors.”

For a brief moment, it seemed like Stiles wasn’t going to reply, even though Lydia knew he had information he was holding back. Two months of telling each other practically everything, combined with being the two people in the pack who worked together to solve puzzles _and_ being in a relationship, meant that Lydia knew almost every one of his tells, just like he knew almost every one of hers.

“Because she’s a freaking Irish goddess of war, Lydia.” He kept his eyes on hers for a moment before the back of his head hit his seat softly. “And she doesn’t just inspire emotion in fighters, she predicts their violent deaths.”

“Like a banshee,” Lydia added quietly.

Stiles’ head remained against the headrest but his eyes glanced over at her. “ _Exactly_ like a banshee.”

A silence settled between them. If either of them had supernaturally-enhanced hearing, they would be able to hear the almost deafening sound of the other’s thumping heartbeat. Lydia could feel her phone vibrating in her lap and lighting up with the arrival of a new text but she couldn’t focus on it. She could only think about what Deaton had said about not having enough information because all Lydia wanted was information. They had bestiaries filled with pages about werewolves, wendigos, kanimas and various, terrifying supernatural creatures that they had yet to encounter but when it came to banshees, there wasn’t enough information.

Maria’s voice invaded her thoughts, cutting through the ringing of her heartbeat in her ears; _“There isn’t much lore on banshees. Despite being a particularly loud supernatural creature, they are surprisingly good at hiding themselves. They aren’t arrogant like werewolves and wendigos. They’re... silent. They stand on the sidelines of war but they won’t take part. Not unless they have to.”_

Another thought quickly overtook that memory. Deaton hadn’t been able to tell her a great deal of information about the Morrígan yet Stiles could.

“How do you know so much about her?”

Stiles shrugged a shoulder and pulled his head off the seat. “You’re my girlfriend. I kind of made it a priority to learn as much as I could about what you are so I could help you. Especially, after Harris and the birds the other night.”

He said it like it wasn’t a big deal, something that people did for each other on a regular basis. Maybe it was. Still, it dispelled the fearful pounding of her heart. His efforts made her feel safe, like he would always be the one who figured it out and saved her from the animal traps and swung baseball bats or lamps to defend against enemies, who broke his wrist trying to protect her. The Nogitsune had been wrong; there was no way that Lydia would be alone when it was all over, Scott and the pack would always be there but, Stiles would never leave her.

A small smile crossed her lips as she leaned over to kiss him. Everything they had been feeling before drifted away when his hand came up to cup the back of her neck, keeping her close to him as their lips moved against each other. It was only when her phone began vibrating again that Lydia pulled away from him with a soft groan, a sentiment that Stiles seemed to share from the way the back of his head hit his seat again.

“Okay, Kira’s send four texts per minute now,” Lydia stated, already beginning to type out her response to Kira’s unanswered text messages.

“Into the fire we go again,” Stiles mumbled as he flicked off the emergency lights and put his foot back on the accelerator.

They managed to arrive at the Animal Clinic before any deputies did. Lydia was actually surprised that Stiles didn’t go over the speed limit while trying to; he’d gone over it for less before. The surprise was quickly forgotten when they entered the building and saw the destruction in the waiting room. Scott and Kira ran out from the exam room, only to stop in their tracks when they realized it was Lydia and Stiles. They had less than five minutes to look around, try to see something that Scott and Kira may have missed, before they saw the flashing lights of the patrol car as it entered the parking lot. During those five minutes, both Lydia and Stiles noticed the air of awkwardness that still sat between their friends but neither of them said anything, just shared a glance as they ducked down to look through the cabinets in the exam room.

The four of them sat in the waiting room chairs, unable to leave while the _four_ officers who arrived on scene inspected the place. It was a ridiculous amount of people for such a small space but the moment Rafael McCall stepped in, it honestly made sense for there to be so many of them combing through the place. Or did when they noticed the expression he wore and how he uttered something one of the deputies before turning his attention to the four teenagers in the chairs. Lydia and Stiles shared a look – “ _Don’t antagonize him_.” “ _It’s instinctive_.” “ _Stiles._ ” “ _Fine._ ” – before making themselves more comfortable in their chairs. The last time Deaton had gone missing, Jennifer had had a hand in it, meaning that it had been ruled as something other than a supernatural occurrence. They hadn’t ever caught anyone or labelled anyone as responsible, meaning that in the eyes of the law, the person responsible was still at large.

Rafael put his hands in his pockets and looked at all of them before nodding his head. “Why do I always find members of your clique at the center of these sorts of things?”

“I’ve been asking myself that since sophomore year,” Stiles answered with a smirk that stayed on his face until he noticed the side-eye Lydia was giving him.

“What are you all doing here?” Rafael asked, ignoring Stiles’ comment and focusing on Scott instead.

“I work here,” Scott replied.

“What about the rest of you?”

“I was with Scott,” Kira stated.

Lydia pointed to Stiles. “We were together.”

“Doing what?” Rafael questioned.

The four of them glanced between each other, their brows all furrowing in confusion slightly, before Scott looked at his Dad again. “Which one of us are you asking?”

He thought about it, taking one of his hands out of his pocket to pinch the bridge of his nose as he released a sigh. “ _What are you all doing here?_ ”

“I got this,” Stiles reassured. He sat forward on his chair and began pointing to them as he explained. “Scott works here and he was with Kira. Scott is my best friend and I was with Lydia.”

“Thank you, that was needlessly unhelpful.” Rafael looked back at Scott, ignoring as Stiles winked at him. “How did you know that the place had been ransacked?”

Scott shrugged a shoulder before he shook his head. “Deaton called me and said that I left one of my books in the back. He thought I might need it.”

His dad bobbed his head, contemplating what he’d been told, and turned his attention to Lydia. “And why are you two here?”

“We were keeping him company,” Lydia answered, interrupting whatever sarcastic remark threatened to fall from Stiles’ lips.

“But he had Kira.”

“It takes a village to pick up a book,” Kira said with a beaming smile. Her tone was so genuine and her smile so bright that Lydia did actually believe what she said; Kira was definitely beginning to embrace the trickster inside her.

Rafael kept his eyes on her for a moment. He turned his head to the direction of the deputies, who were still investigating the break-in, then back to the four of them. “The last time Dr. Deaton disappeared, he was thought to be a victim of a serial killer.”

“You know, my dad found him then, so if you need pointers, I would ask him. He’s a _very_ good detective,” Stiles said honestly and with absolutely no overwhelming resentment directed at the agent. It was there, though, between the lines.

“Do you know where he is?” Rafael asked, completely ignoring Stiles’ comments for the second time that night.

The door to the Animal Clinic jingled and the five of them turned their heads to see Morrell walking in. Her attention drifted to the pack momentarily before it focused on Rafael. Morrell had resigned from Beacon Hills High before they had learned who the Necromancer was, no one had any idea where she had gone but one day Lydia had walked into the guidance counsellor’s office for her still-mandatory sessions after her hallucination in the hallway and had been greeted by the new, overly friendly guidance counsellor.

Morrell stopped in front of Rafael and clasped her hands together. “Are you in charge here?”

“I’m Special Agent McCall, _yes_. Who are you?”

Lydia didn’t miss the way Morrell’s gaze shifted to Scott when he heard the surname. It was brief but she still noticed the older woman’s curiosity. “I’m Marin Morrell. My brother owns this clinic, he called me from the airport because he was alerted that there had been a break in.”

“You’ve had contact with your brother?”

“Yes. If you’d like, I can call him but I think he’s gotten on his plane by now.”

“Where is he going?”

It was more obvious when her gaze shifted to Lydia that time. “He’s going to London. He has some old friends, who he wanted to visit.”

“Interesting time to take a vacation.”

“I suppose,” Morrell said before motioning to the four teenagers. “I don’t understand why they need to be here for this. While Scott works here, I don’t think any of them can provide any pertinent information into the break-in. I also don’t understand why you need four officers to investigate what seems like an average break-in.”

“We were treating it delicately given your brother’s history,” Rafael replied. His gaze moved to the four of them, who were still sitting there, watching the conversation happening in front of them. “I think it’s time for all of you to go home.”

They all stood up and began walking to the door. Stiles hung back, slowly strolling next to Lydia. “This was fun, we should do it again.”

It took Lydia forcibly dragging him out of the clinic for the smirk he was wearing to disappear. Rolling her eyes wasn’t a strong enough reaction but that didn’t stop it from happening. She released his arm when they reached Scott and Kira, whose air of awkwardness had returned. Both had their arms crossed against their chest, focusing on anything that wasn’t the other one. Stiles glanced over at Lydia, rubbing the place on his arm that Lydia had been clutching on to seconds earlier, like she could provide some answers to the awkward.

Kira’s avoidance of Scott led to her gaze landing on Lydia. A small smile tugged the corners of her lips up, but it wasn’t as sincere as the previous one she had worn inside the clinic only a short time ago. “Lydia, can you give me a ride home?”

She began to nod, only to remember that she didn’t have her car. It was still parked outside the Stilinskis’. Without having to look over at her, Stiles held out his car keys for Lydia to take. “I’ll get a ride with Scott.”

“Are you sure?” Lydia asked as she took the keys from him.

“You have to come back to get your car anyway.”

Lydia smiled, leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek. Maybe spending time with Scott and Kira would give some explanation behind the awkwardness beyond what she and Stiles had been told after their break-up. At the very least, Lydia and Stiles could attempt to dissolve the awkwardness before they went camping the next day. Even though the whole idea behind going camping was so that the pack could work through their issues, getting a head start on it couldn’t hurt anyone.

Kira was quiet, even after they were both in the Jeep. It was only when Lydia pulled away from the parking lot that her attention left the sky and moved to the banshee beside her. While Scott and Stiles stayed outside the Animal Clinic, watching the Jeep drive away before moving to Scott’s bike.

If Lydia was there, she would tell him to ask the question tactfully.

 _But_ , Lydia wasn’t there and it wasn’t as if he handled most things regarding Scott with tact in the first place.

“Okay, dude, what the hell is going on between you and Kira? I don’t need supernatural abilities to _feel_ the awkward between you. In fact, you two kind of _upped_ the awkward from the other day so kudos,” Stiles jestingly praised as he began putting his helmet on. “How the hell did you manage that in less than two hours?”

Scott exhaled loudly before shrugging his shoulders. “We started talking about that night.”

A pause hang between them while Stiles adjusted the strap on the helmet. _That freaking night_. Every time any of them talked about that night, even about the dream, Stiles felt more exasperated than he could put into a coherent description.

“I’m really starting to think we should ban all conversations regarding that night.”

“Believe me,” Scott started as he got onto his bike. “It wasn’t intentional.”

* * *

**two months ago**

When Allison asked him if she was going to regret trusting him and he said that she probably would, it had never occurred to him that anything bad would happen between them. Sure, it was likely that they would break up and maybe break each other’s hearts in the process but that’s what happened in high school. That was the worst he could imagine happening between them, even though he was in the early stages of his teen werewolf days and had no idea how to stop himself from hurting people during the full moon. Even when he found out Allison’s father was the same guy who shot him, Scott had never once thought it would end badly for _Allison_. Maybe Scott would get hurt or maimed or mangled but he never imagined that would happen to Allison. Then she had gotten an Oni blade through her abdomen and died in his arms and a thought had hit him. It wasn’t even the thought that he was right and she would regret trusting him and subsequently falling into the supernatural world – though, given her family, she was probably going to fall into it eventually – but the thought that if he had never given her a pen on her first day, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up in that place at that time and maybe Allison would be alive for senior year.

But that thought disappeared when he stopped trying to bring her back. When he stopped looking for answers in Deaton’s archives and started living because she would want him to. His grades went up, his relationship with Kira was good even if it was undefined at times, and his world kept spinning despite Allison not being physically in it anymore.

Then the Necromancer came to town.

And Allison had appeared in his dreams.

And Scott had found it difficult to remember Deaton’s words; “ _If you allow yourself to be solely controlled by your love and grief over Allison, you will fall prey to the curse that has afflicted many an Alpha before you... and if that happens, not even your closest friends will be able to pull you back_.”

Even more so as he jumped off his bed, eyes widening in the process, and stared at what appeared to be Allison Argent. He didn’t have a lot of experience with ghosts but he was pretty sure they were transparent and Allison wasn’t.

Scott couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what he would say. Instead, he counted his fingers again and hers. That was the guaranteed way of knowing whether it was a dream, it had worked for Stiles. It was also the only way that Scott knew.

“Scott?” Allison asked, taking a cautious step toward him.

He put his hands out in front of him to stop her. “Don’t.”

That wasn’t what he had wanted to say. He had actually planned what he would say to Allison countless times before. What he would say if he was given one more minute with her. The word ‘ _don’t_ ’ had been surprisingly absent from everything that he had ever planned yet it was the only thing that could leave his mouth.

_Don’t._

_Don’t._

_Don’t_.

Maybe he was going crazy. After everything that had happened since the night he and Stiles went out into the woods, it wouldn’t be surprising if he lost himself. The pack would help him find his way back obviously, but losing his mind was probably the most normal thing that could happen to an almost eighteen year old werewolf.

“I know this is a shock--”

“Allison, you’re dead,” which were words Scott never imagined himself saying out loud. Then again, he’d never imagined seeing Allison Argent in his door way when he wasn’t dreaming. It was just that sort of night.

She nodded softly and ignored his previous request by taking another step toward him. “I was.”

“I held you in my arms. I _felt_ you die.” Scott didn’t even try to hide the emotion that was invading his tone or the water that was forming in his eyes as he gawked at her; she looked exactly the same as she had in his dreams. “You _died_.”

Allison stayed where she was. She didn’t try to move closer to him or respond, she just let his words wash over her. Even though she tried to blink away the tears in her eyes, it didn’t work. They both stood there, their shaky breaths echoing in the room as they fought the urge to allow tears to escape and roll down their cheeks.

“I came back,” Allison said softly, her voice a whisper.

A lump formed in his throat and made it impossible for him to say anything else. Scott fell back on his bed, putting his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what he would say if he had the ability to put words into sentences. It wasn’t the first time that Allison had rendered him speechless but for the most part, all those moments had been pleasant. This was not pleasant at all. This was everything that he didn’t want. Scott’s emotions made it difficult to say what he had wanted to say since the moment her eyes had shut at Oak Creek. He had never gotten a chance to reciprocate her love or tell her how much she meant to him. That was what he had planned when he had thought about it. All those nights spent thinking about Allison and he had never once thought he wouldn’t be able to speak; Scott had never factored in how he would feel, just what he would say to her.

The bed shifted. He didn’t have to take his head out of his hands to know that Allison had sat down beside him.

“This isn’t a dream,” Scott mumbled.

“No.”

He pulled his hands away from his face to see her staring at him. “Allison, how the hell are you here? We lost you. We _buried_ you.”

“Harris brought me back.”

Scott’s next question was cut off by an anguished scream that seemed to reverberate through the room. His hands reached for his ears, pressing them as tightly against the sides of his head as he could, while his eyes squeezed shut. The scream didn’t hurt as much as the realization of who was doing the screaming did. The last time her scream had been that bad, Jennifer had a garrotte around her neck. Scott fought through the ringing in his ears, the pain that her scream made him feel, and stood up. He turned his attention to Allison to explain, only to see her wincing as well. Lydia’s wail soon faded into nothingness but Scott could still hear it; it wasn’t exactly a forgettable sound.

“I have to find her,” Scott stated. His seriousness on the matter was good, it actually made it easier to ignore the ache that was beginning to form in his chest whenever he stared at Allison for too long.

Allison was already walking to his door, determination taking the place of anything else she had felt that night. “I’m coming with you.”

His hand reached out to grab her hand. The fact that he was able to do that made him drop it almost immediately after taking it in the first place. “Allison, we don’t even know how you’re alive. I’ll call Deaton and he can meet you here to--”

“Scott, she is my _best_ friend,” Allison stated, turning around to look at him. “Just try to stop me.”

He was an Alpha werewolf. A _True_ Alpha werewolf. If he wanted to stop her, he definitely could. But the look in her eyes as she stared at him made Scott nod his head and walk over to his dresser to hand her his spare helmet. They didn’t speak after that. They made their way down to his motorcycle in silence and the entire ride to where Scott assumed the scream originated from was a continuation of pure silence. At least between them. There were other cars on the road, sounds from Beacon Hills and the roar of the motorcycle but there was nothing said between Allison and Scott.

When Scott saw the Jeep, he knew he had the right place. It was made even more evident when he saw Stiles and Lydia. Nothing seemed wrong, they were both standing close to each other, illuminated by the headlights of the Jeep. Scott couldn’t sense any danger but her scream had told him that there was. He didn’t want to turn back around and drive home. He didn’t think Allison would let him either.

Scott parked the motorcycle beside the Jeep as Lydia began to hug Stiles. When he and Allison got off and took their helmets off, his eyes met Lydia’s. Hers only stayed there momentarily before they drifted to Allison. Stiles soon followed; Scott watched his best friend stumble back next to Lydia and reach for her hand for stability. Scott glanced over at Allison, who really seemed scared for the first time that entire night.

“What the fuck?”

“I know this is--” Scott began only to be interrupted by Lydia, who had practically leapt into a run.

Her arms wrapped around Allison before she or Scott could grasp the action. Lydia didn’t even seem like she grasped her own action but she still kept her arms tightly wrapped around Allison’s neck, her head buried in her arms. Allison's hands came up to complete the hug.

Stiles was more cautious. He took tentative steps toward them, his eyes leaving Allison to silently communicate with Scott. By the time he was in front of his best friend, Lydia had taken her arms off of hers with an almost silent yet gleeful laugh.

“Seriously... What the hell?” Stiles asked softly and slowly.

“Harris brought me back,” Allison replied with an uneasy shrug.

His eyebrows knotted together briefly before Stiles let out a laugh that seemed to mirror Lydia’s. He pulled Allison into a hug and for the first time since Oak Creek, it was like Stiles was the same Stiles who dangled upside on his porch and told him about a search in the woods. Being able to hug Allison made him Stiles again.

Their hug was cut short by the sound of another vehicle pulling up behind the Jeep. Kira was the first to get out, followed by Malia, Liam, Mason and surprisingly Isaac. No wonder Scott hadn’t been able to talk to Isaac when he arrived home, Isaac had gone to the Yukimuras’.

The five of them stopped in their tracks. Well, Isaac and Kira stopped and Malia, Liam and Mason followed their lead, completely unsure of why the other two had stopped walking. Those three hadn’t known Allison, they had heard stories but they had never actually _known_ Allison, but Isaac and Kira had and they looked like they had been hit in the stomach with a shovel.

When Kira’s eyes found his, Scott actually felt his heart clench. It was like she could read his mind. She kept his gaze for a moment before it found Allison again. They didn’t have to say anything, it was already crystal clear that Allison being back was going to break their relationship, even if they didn’t want it to.

* * *

“Foxes don’t hunt in packs.”

It was the first thing that Kira had said since they had driven away from the Animal Clinic. Lydia was already turning the Jeep into her street when she did. Honestly, Lydia had thought that Kira would explain everything when they were out of Scott’s hearing range but she had been surprisingly quiet. Every so often she would look over at Lydia and seem like she was about to say something but wouldn’t. Lydia didn’t want to make her talk about something she didn’t want to so she had left it up to Kira. Usually, though, Kira did want to talk, which was why it was unexpected that they had lasted almost the entire car ride to the Yukimuras’ with only the stereo filling the otherwise quiet Jeep.

Lydia glanced over at Kira in confusion. “What?”

“Foxes are normally solitary creatures. Sometimes they do hunt in packs but otherwise, they’re happy on their own,” Kira explained.

“ _Okay_ ,” Lydia replied softly as the Jeep lurched to a stop in front of the Yukimuras’. A frown started to settle on her lips as she contemplated what Kira was saying. She turned in her seat to face her. “But, there are types of foxes who live in social groups. It’s only hunting that’s solitary.”

Another false smile graced Kira’s lips before she shook her head gently. “I’m worried that when Allison comes back on Sunday, I’m not going to be part of the pack anymore.”

“Kira--”

“Foxes don’t hunt in packs, Lydia.”

The smile that Lydia wore was completely genuine, completely unlike many of the ones that Kira had sported over the past hour. “But you _belong_ in ours.”

And that seemed to alleviate some of the anxiety Kira was feeling. Only some but at least when she smiled that time, it was real. They stayed there for a moment before Kira pushed open the door.

“It’s probably better if I don’t believe everything I read about foxes relates to me,” Kira thought aloud, resting her arms on the passenger side’s open window. “I mean, they said that even though foxes are solitary creatures, the dominant male and female fox hunt together and mate for life.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that so she just kept her smile on her lips and nodded her head in agreement, which was what Kira seemed to be looking for. Lydia waited until Kira was inside her house, giving her a small wave, before she drove away. Camping wasn’t a magical solution that would fix every single one of the pack’s problems but it would be a start. Realistically, it would take time to rebuild trust, fix what was broken and strengthen the pack, Lydia was well aware of that. All she wanted by the end of the weekend was for everyone to realize that they were still a pack, regardless of what happened.

* * *

“So, what happened?” Stiles asked, getting off Scott’s motorbike as he did. They hadn’t really been able to talk while they were riding and it wasn’t like either of them wanted to hang around the Animal Clinic to have the conversation.

Scott pulled off his helmet at the same time Stiles did. “I don’t want it to be awkward between Kira and me. I didn’t break up with her because I _don’t_ love her, I broke up with her because I do. So, that’s what I was trying to tell her but...”

Stiles nodded his head, already understanding where his best friend’s train of thought was going. “The conversation didn’t go according to plan.”

“No, it didn’t,” Scott confirmed with a shake of his head. “When I told her that I loved her--”

“Wait, Scotty,” Stiles interrupted, raising his hand in front of him briefly before using it to lightly pinch the bridge of his nose in more than slight exasperation. “You told Kira that you love her?”

“Yeah,” he responded, shrugging a shoulder as he did.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose a little harder, letting his eyes shut momentarily. “Was that the first time you told her?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles had to take his fingers away from his face before he caused himself serious harm. He chose to scratch the back of his neck instead. “ _So_ , let me get this straight, you told Kira, _for the first time_ , that you love her and you don’t want things to be awkward between you two _but_ you also don’t want to get back together?”

“Yeah.”

“And when you said ‘ _I love you_ ’, you meant it romantically and not in a friendship way?”

“Yeah.”

“I got to ask, dude, what the hell did you think her reaction to that would be?”

Scott stared at his best friend for a moment. He shrugged a shoulder before resting against the bike. His gaze drifted every so often between the ground, the sky, and Stiles, Scott’s arms still crossed against his chest as he thought about it. Stiles wasn’t timing him but Scott’s silence had to be going on for a while because Lydia managed to drive Kira home _and_ drive back to his house during that time. She didn’t say anything or wave to them, but when Stiles turned his head to look at her, Lydia raised her hands in question to which Stiles shook his head; voiceless communication between them was easier when they had better lighting.

It was only after Lydia shut the Stilinski front door that Scott stepped away from the bike, his arms falling to his sides again. “If Lydia came back from the dead and you were still dating Malia, what would you do?”

“ _Technically_ , Lydia did come back from the dead,” Stiles started before noticing the look Scott as sending him. He cleared his throat, his hand leaving the back of his neck. “I don’t know, okay? I have no _freaking_ clue how I would handle that. But seriously... I can’t even handle that _that_ hypothetical question has some actual basis in the reality of our lives. We’ve reached a point in our lives where we have to _earnestly_ question what our reaction would be if someone we loved was brought back to life. Honestly, Scotty, I kind of assumed that we wouldn’t be faced with that sort of insanity until _at least_ our sophomore year of college.”

Scott sighed with a nod in agreement, settling back against the bike as he did. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Stiles.”

“Which is a very good alpha decision,” Stiles commended. “ _But_ you’re kind of missing a big question.”

“What?”

“Allison told you while she was dying that you were the person she would always love, right? Well, over the past two months of her current state of re-alive-ment, has she told you _once_ that she still feels that way? Has she actually said to you ‘ _Scott McCall, I love you_ ’?” Stiles questioned, pursing his lips momentarily when he finished, before shaking his head. “Because I’ve spent a larger-than-normal portion of time with you over the past sixty days and _not once_ when we’ve spoken about it have you ever said that Allison still loves you like that. I’m not doubting that you two will always love each other, I’ve _heard_ how much you love each other – seriously, that period of my life where I was your human carrier pigeon engrained that knowledge in me – but if you’re the only one who is still _actively_ in love, then the person who you’re hurting the most is _you_ , Scott.”

If he had a microphone, Stiles probably would have dropped it. Not that Scott would have liked it; Stiles would have though. Instead, he raised his arms in mock surrender and waited for his best friend’s verbal reaction. Scott reached for his helmet, tossing it gently in his hands, before he bobbed his head.

“I guess we’ll find out when she lands.”

They let the silence settle between them. Stiles wouldn’t describe it as an _awkward_ silence but there were definitely awkward-esque elements to it. His leg began bouncing against the pavement they were standing on. Even having awkward- _esque_ elements to a silence between them was unnerving and off-putting.

“Should we hug?” Stiles asked with the sincerest smile he could muster.

Scott nodded, dropping his helmet back on the bike seat, before putting his arms around his best friend, patting his shoulder as he did. The hug was quick, almost over the moment it began. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

It was only once the bike had disappeared around the corner that Stiles left his spot on the sidewalk and walked to his front door. There were no lights on, which at first made Stiles assume Lydia had gone to sleep but then he remembered her reaction when he startled her earlier and the challenging gleam in her eye so he became overly cautious as he ascended the stairs to his room.

There was nothing waiting for him in the hallway. Nothing to scare him or make him yelp like he had made her. It was just the same unlit hallway that he was normally greeted with during the middle of the night. Even when he entered his room, there was nothing waiting to startle him. There was only Lydia, laying under his covers, wearing one of his old shirts, with her hair pulled to one side and her arm outstretched, waiting to rest it on his chest as she curled her body against his.

Stiles took his clothes off as quietly as he could, pulling on the first shirt he found, before he settled into the space beside her. Almost immediately, Lydia moved to be closer to him, her eyes didn’t even open while she did. Her head rested against his forearm, his arm rested around her shoulders and his other hand met the arm that she was now resting on his chest, their fingers intertwining when he did.

“How’s Scott?” Lydia asked softly, not bothering to open her eyes.

His gaze left their entangled fingers to focus on her. At least, as well as he could in his unlit room. “I think he’ll be okay. How’s Kira?”

Lydia’s eyes fluttered open as she nodded her head lightly against his arm. “I think she’ll be okay.”

“I know I kind of _mocked_ the idea of camping--”

“’ _Kind of’_ , Stiles?”

Even in the dark, he was sure she saw the roll of his eyes. “ _Definitely_ mocked the idea of camping _but_ it was a genius move on your part. Putting everyone in the space and airing out everything, it’ll be good for the pack.”

She smiled and leaned up to kiss him. “Thank you for admitting that.”

“ _And_ ,” Stiles began before pressing his lips against hers again. “You and I can finish what we started tonight.”

The small laugh that fell from her was completely involuntary. “You want to do that while surrounded by some of our closest friends, who also happen to have supernatural hearing advantages that we don’t?”

“’Tis the season to wear earmuffs,” he said with complete earnest. “I mean, if you let me, I’ll be using your thighs as ear muffs tomorrow night.”

Lydia laughed again and kissed him softly before resting her head back on his arm. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Lydia.”

* * *

When she had left him the next morning, he had been in the middle of trying to shut his duffel bag full of items that Lydia was entirely certain he wouldn’t need for a one-night camping trip. There was no trying to argue her point with him, though, because he had a response as to why each item was necessary and Lydia didn’t want the headache that she knew would come from a debate on whether or not _Pictionary_ was necessary; it wasn’t, she was right and they would never find themselves in a situation where playing that game would secure their freedom because Lydia was _entirely_ sure that there were no board-game aficionado monsters running through the woods.

They had decided on taking the Jeep because ‘ _I put in that GPS like you said and Isaac can fit between luggage better than anyone I know_ ’. Again, it was a debate that Lydia didn’t want to spend too much time on.

But honestly, the moment the Jeep pulled up and her attention was drawn away from the game of ‘I Spy’ that Isaac had suggested they play to pass the time, Lydia really wished she’d had the debate. Maybe then, she would arrive outside the Stilinskis and make sure that atrocity wasn’t on his head. She didn’t even think Stiles owned a baseball cap yet there he was, leaning out the window in his backwards baseball cap and wearing that smile that made normally had a different effect on her.

“All aboard!” he shouted, pulling an imaginary chain as he did.

Isaac rolled his eyes, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder before walking over to the Jeep. He was already in the back, nestled between bags, when Lydia walked over to the passenger side and slid it. Her gaze left Stiles’ face to focus on the cap, her eyes narrowing slightly when she did, and rose her finger to point at it once her gaze returned to Stiles.

“What _the_ _hell_ is that?”

Stiles’ smile grew even larger. “I found it when I was putting away so of the ‘unnecessary’ items that you vetoed.”

Her eyes narrowed even more. “And you decided to wear it in public?”

“Yeah,” he replied with a nod of his head before finally sensing her tone. “Do you not like it?”

“Does the expression on my face make you think that I like it?”

It was Stiles’ eyes that narrowed that time as he tugged his baseball cap firmly on his head. “Does the expression on _my_ face make you think I’m going to take it off because of the expression on _your_ face?”

She could see Isaac awkwardly shuffling in the middle of the bags, looking for some way out. Lydia ignored it though and turned her attention away from Stiles to focus on the road, wiping down her skirt as if there was dust on it. “I hope you know the second you take that thing off, I’m going to burn it.”

“And I hope you know that I’m going to use this car ride to change your mind,” Stiles retorted with a quirk of his eyebrow before he turned the key in the ignition.

“I knew I should have gone with Kira,” Isaac uttered as Stiles pulled away from the curb and began the drive to the camp ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you all enjoyed it. Remember, feedback is adored, whether it's a comment below or something nice left [here](http://haletate.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
